Lyrics Destruction of the Eiffel Tower - Ghetts

Destruction of the Eiffel Tower

Oi P I’m disapointed in you ya know, you ain’t no where near ready for me,
I’m on a next ting
All you do is remix my songs I can’t even do that to you they don’t know the
tune they might think I wrote it!
Haha DEAD
I ain’t taking the subtle approach
I beat P like there’s a belt buckle involved
MC’s like me: running the road
MC’s like P: come and they go
MC’s like me: style upon style
MC’s like P: couple of flows
MC’s like me: performing on tours
MC’s like P: couple of shows
Let me get straight to the point
I ain’t got no time to play with this boy
When I’m done with him
Everyone will think they just watched another remaking of Troy
P’s reply was blatantly moist, he said a few funny things
P’s funny, keep the jokes coming in
Should I be worried?
I’ve already duppied him
All Black Winter, black clouds above him
End of discussion
Oi, who left blacks in the oven?
If you think P Money is ready for the war
Then I’m sure I can see blacks blushing
His fan think I’m down
Two guns up, come back bussing
Surprise, surprise, none of you saw that coming
If my name was Paris
I would’ve spent half of my life embarrassed
I would’ve wished my parents never met
Let alone slept together and then got married, oh
Again he’s asking where the artillery is
This silly prick won’t know till I kill him with it
Where was I when the beef kicked off?
Right there in the middle of it
I don’t wanna hear man talk like a shooter
Unless his name is Billy the Kid
Tell Paris, I’m Baghdad
Suicidal, two bombs in the backpack
Tickity-tick tick boom
I deliver the hits, big tunes
Like sing badabada
I made more money of a song that flopped than P Money has in his whole career,
so sing badabada
Hahaha on the way to the closest bank in the manor
Sing badabada
I’m looking at P from the top and the lift don’t work
And I’ve kicked the ladder
And It ain’t over yet, he don’t pose a threat
Every blow he’s thrown been below the neck
Body blow, not one blow to my head
I body foes, with one blow man are dead
It’s Muhammad vs Joe in effect
And I run it, you know I ain’t Joe in the end
Rope-a-dope
That one hits like an overdose
Overclose to your death
Run up and OGz one up
Money don’t run if your laces ain’t done up
Cause if you trip over, I’ll stamp you out till it’s over
Bones broke, face all buss up
How can you say that I ain’t stabbed nobody?
I can name more than 5 man I’ve cut up
Nobody in my clique is a snitch
They talk, get necked and
Name, address, even the car he drives
You’re a snake you’ll get your mate stuck up
Killed him already but his fans went to the cemetery
With shovels and dug that mug up
Now he’s back for more
I swear down he was better off dead
Got the champion’s belt on, P can’t get it off
Never I be letting off, lead forever
Enough about me let’s talk about you
What you ain’t done, what you have done
Okay, you’ve got 3 CDs
One’s okay, two are really weak
Let’s have a look at P’s CV
How can a yout with 685,000 MySpace views
Talk to a nigga with 2,103,000 MySpace views?
You stand still, I make moves
I came in the game a year before you
Yeah, Risky Roadz 2 I saw you
And that was '05, now it’s '010
And you’re still in the newcomer category
Swear P Money wouldn’t win this clash
If he made every MC in Blueborough battle me
Kill off your cavalry, casually
Me run tings in the MC academy
Pain, agony, that’s what you feel when I aim
Rapidly, hit anybody in the way
Tragedy, any MC in the game
Casualty, don’t bite the hand that feeds you
I’ve got P Money on begs, happily
If my name was Paris
I would’ve spent half of my life embarrassed
I would’ve wished my parents never met
Let alone slept together and then got married, oh
P ain’t got no dough in the bank
That’s why he looks like a tramp
I’d rather wear no bling, than gold rings
Sovereigns on every finger, I told him
You can head to cash converters hoping
It’s a dough ting
Nah fam its a blue note at the most
But you probably won’t believe me until the day you’ve sold them
Dead already, lemme dead him again
And if I get him I’m getting his friends
I know what Dee thinks
Deep down, P pound should never of sent
I watch the shot rebound
I pick the ball up, now he better defend
His last reply couldn’t harm a fly
I’m the best anybody that can’t decide
Don’t know about bars or the art of rhymes
One line of fat hands
So P Money’s a one lying man
Said there’s only one sight to stand
Still this is one way traffic
Come touch this one way damage
I ain’t being direct enough
Back to back with Littles and Blacks
You will never get that, and come do a live set with us
Which reminds me
I watched Fuck Radio 5 the other day
And I clocked you behind me watching me slyly
P Money’s a batty boy
I bet he was in school sucking cock in the library
No wonder he’s talking that gay shit
Face it, he ain’t gotta squeeze his shit out his anus
Nah, it just drops out
How can he say that I owe man head
When he’s the one with a cock mouth?
I could imagine P Money on lock down
Yeah, everyday getting had up
Till he starts riding voluntary bang up
Dad comes to visit looks at his son
Shakes his head and tell him to man up
Me?
I’m suicidal on the riddim
While P would be suicidal on a prison
Come to his door, open his flap up
Body hanging from the ceiling
He, only had a week left, this don’t add up
Why would someone do such a thing?
Every night he let his cellmate tuck him in
He can’t leave his cell door open
Without 25 man running in
But again shipped out to a whole other wing
If my name was Paris
I would’ve spent half of my life embarrassed
I would’ve wished my parents never met
Let alone slept together and then got married, oh
He’s not swag, yeah (He's not, he’s alright, he’s alright)
But he’s nowhere near Ghetts (Nowhere near me)
I’m on a next level to my man
He’s on radio, talking about «it's like Jay-Z and Nas»
Huh?
In your world
If my name was Paris
I would’ve spent half of my life embarrassed
I would’ve wished my parents never met
Let alone slept together and then got married, oh