Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gimme Dat, artist - Foreign Beggars. Album song Asylum Speakers, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 14.09.2003
Record label: Dented
Song language: English
Gimme Dat |
| My styles ain’t available |
| My flows are fucking custom fit |
| And if you really want to test |
| I’ll leave you with a busted lip |
| Talking about your busty chick when she’s just a crusty bitch |
| Leave your whole crew sinking like a fucking rusty shit |
| Must have slipped up boy, seems like you’ve lost your flow |
| Where’d it go? |
| (I don’t know) |
| Fuck off you fassyole |
| Get your little pussy-arse the fuck off my patio |
| Before I smack you proper boy, just like I did your datty hoe |
| My x-ray rhythm see through your lyrical petticoat |
| And underneath your lavish exterior you’re just a sweaty bloke |
| The right fight’s begun, we shun dumb buffoons |
| With random acts of violence we be spitting up our bit-tunes |
| And coming in too rough for crews tougher than mufflers |
| Eyes redder than blood we be the militant stuff puffers |
| Blubber on the rubber the mutt suffers the game |
| We be playing teeth but ain’t we sound the same |
| Hey, yo |
| Watcha gwan do? |
| Orifice, Foreign Beggar fam, roll through |
| Gimme that chain, that jacket, them shoe |
| That wallet with your money and your credit card too |
| I’mma burn down the house of justice, come watch this |
| Orifice get caught take myself as a hostage |
| So on-key I run a brothel up in the hospice |
| Glue your head to the top I bet you crack like a lost ostrich |
| Even leave the hardest bastard gasping for his last breath |
| Finish up the rascal’s ass with the sharpest part of a pop wrench |
| You couldn’t get us if you had a target up in your glass lens |
| I smack you claat over back you’ll find yourself in the past tense |
| Got more fight than four dykes on a pint of Red Bull |
| Drop bars so heavy you’d think they was made from lead bull |
| Leave them fools wishing their bredrens had kept their heads cool |
| Call me the rhyme scientist but I never went to no med school |
| I’m cool chilling in this hell-bent habitat |
| Keep your garbage pail while you fassy up your cabbage patch |
| You’re like a dirty yat with some flab up on ya scabby twat |
| Decided to decorate and paint the walls of your shabby flat |
| I’m sitting here cotching by the side of the road |
| Watching the world go by through the eyes of a rogue |
| But no hope for change in this cryptic maze of destruction |
| So far from the light that my sight don’t even function |
| I’m hurting in so many places |
| I need a release from all the pain hatred and anger |
| The wrath of these evil streets |
| People say that’s the way life goes and I should accept it |
| But I’m not the kind of a guy to comply to the lies of the next dick |
| My shit is bitchin' |
| I rap for Britain! |
| I’m the sort of man to stick my dick in the back of a kitten |
| Spittin' in your so-twisted pair of shit at the slightest mention |
| Fuck that |
| Spanked my monkey when I was at the back of detention |
| Drinking dead rappers trippin' up and kickin' written rhymes |
| Funkin' in the cypher bitin' flows committin' spittin' crimes |
| Little-minded fibbers get confided in for little time |
| Before they get their dingleberries crinkled into dicky wine |