| Duck and cover
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| 'Cause when you fuck with Suffa it’s like the bombs dropped
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| You spit like Bon Jovi, we spit like Bon Scott
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| We got it on lock: deadlock, non-stop head-nod
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| Even when the song stop
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| Step in the cypher and it’s danger
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| I’ll set the Pressure on you like a hyperbaric chamber
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| And he don’t fuck around, we’ve gained such renown
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| For this state of the art custom sound
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| For them custom built rappers with underskilled narratives
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| The good die young, me and Suff are still bad with this
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| Rhyme style it’s lethal, prime time the sequel
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| Ain’t got a single fan just like-minded people
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| I told you from the start, I’m a soldier of the art
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| Effortless, take every breathe and hold it to your heart
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| With Debris and my brother Suffa, so watch another sucker run for cover
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| It’s the return of the motherfucking motherfuckers
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| I don’t give a goddamn, listen, I don’t know
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| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| I don’t give a goddamn (on the shows you did)
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| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| I don’t give a goddamn, listen, I don’t know
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| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| Mr. Debris (blow the horns on 'em, not now but right now)
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| Obsessive compulsive, repulsive, insulting
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| Offensive like feeding a vegan some dolphin
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| Assaulting the system, a system that’s broken
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| The cistern is broken, the shit is just floating
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| I spit till your open underground
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| P-Dela-Ressure and he don’t fuck around
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| Now album number five, worked hard to earn that
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| No doubt it was a fight, too far to turn back
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| I step in the sun, take the weather however it comes
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| Although I’m a second son, I’m second to none
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| Lesson is done, what goes around comes around
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| Suffa’s down, and he don’t fuck around
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| The Hood spits the news like Wolf Blitzer, crews
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| Fear the pit bull in the pulpit, yo it’s the
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| World War Three in a whisper — the Mr Suffa
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| And Mr Pressure, we rips it rougher/we spits it fresher
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| I don’t give a goddamn, listen, I don’t know
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| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| I don’t give a goddamn (on the shows you did)
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| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| «the boys we got coming through the windows. |
| They’re coming through the
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| ceiling coming from the floorboards man. |
| Bring those boys down here.
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| I want them on stage right now!»
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| Your nemesis on verses, the desperate and worthless
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| Try and flame the name we can wrestle in a furnace
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| Never came half-hearted, never came last started
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| Everyday like it’s my last till my craft’s mastered
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| And we can get it on
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| I’m at peace with myself cause there’s a piece of myself in every song
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| I don’t just write rhymes, I spent a life time building
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| A life line accommodating night times children
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| And now they love the sound, play me with a
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| Gravyspitter and he don’t fuck around
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| Check, ain’t no stepping to me
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| Cause P and Suffa bad mutha’s like Treacherous Three
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| So (feel the heartbeat, feel the heartbeat)
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| You feel your hearts weak cause still you can’t beat
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| The Hills and aren’t we just still too rugged?
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| I can feel you love it, we the real blue blooded, c’mon!
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| I don’t give a goddamn, listen, I don’t know
|
| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
|
| I don’t give a goddamn (on the shows you did)
|
| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
|
| I don’t give a goddamn, listen, I don’t know
|
| (How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid)
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| Mr. Debris (blow the horns on 'em, not now but right now) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Return , by - Hilltop Hoods. Song from the album State Of The Art, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп