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