| Yeah, live grenade when the drum is laid
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| Machine gun, game by the bass
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| And, even by another name
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| A wack rapper’s still a wack rapper, same shit, different day, man,
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| nothing changed
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| Let the snake slide to the last snake
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| Like a hurricane, it’s come correct or it’s come again
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| I took the hard road, when the rest wondered down lovers' lane
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| It’s how I take my tracks where the others
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| A dirty game and I did mine
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| Fuck big lies, my words ain’t to live off, they’re to live by
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| The hype’ll fuck you if you let it
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| The hoods proved you ain’t gotta slum it to make something poetic
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| My life’s a movie, still looking for the message
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| Crossed fingers, happy ending come before the credits
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| Baby, if it’s banging, you can bet it’s M-Phazes
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| On the beat, and Illy trailblazing when we kicking this
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| It’s Crooked Eye with the wickedness
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| So you ain’t gotta guess who the sickest is, motherfucker
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| This is rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
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| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
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| Let ‘em know where the fuck we’re from
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| M-Phazes, Illy Al on a song, now
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| Rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
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| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
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| Let ‘em know what the fuck we’re on
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| Too strong to be stopped, too right to be wrong
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| The Bon Scott of the bomb drop
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| The key to the Skryptcha, bitch get the picture
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| This the product, the hard liquor mixed substance
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| And skills too dope to fit in whizlahs, zigzags
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| Or Tally Ho’s, to all those rocking shabby flows
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| Time to clean your act up, laddie, daddy’s home
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| They can compete but can’t come close, nah
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| They twist statue, posturing like an oath
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| That old beaten rouge, sipping glass of
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| With a bag of stones, waiting to unload
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| Some like show me how your arm is
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| Take more than that to tarnish me
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| Kill me with warmth, I invite you
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| The cold shoulders only make me hold onto self-belief tighter
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| So, if you’re with me, grab your lighters
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| Pump a fist for the music, living fast sideways
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| One sixty on the highway
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| So, if you do the speed limit, get the fuck out of my way
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| This is rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
|
| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
|
| Let ‘em know where the fuck we’re from
|
| M-Phazes, Illy Al on a song, now
|
| Rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
|
| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
|
| Let ‘em know what the fuck we’re on
|
| Too strong to be stopped, too right to be wrong
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| I’m living proof that the truth hurts
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| And ain’t a crew worth their salt that ain’t know that this dude lurks
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| I’m like «who's first to get the short views?»
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| Think I’m tripping out (shit) I’m still waiting ‘til the shrews work
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| Spitting sharp angles
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| Cutting lies, stars out of Andrew’s guitar
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| Want to leave my mark on people’s hearts
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| John Lennon in west Central Park
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| jealousy fall upon you
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| Let it known, I ain’t ever played the stonch, dude
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| I ain’t even want to
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| My skills got me this far so it’s them that gotta make me
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| Love to the fans, like my love to my fam
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| Two hyptheticals and one in the hand
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| So I take stock on what I got, eye on the haters
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| ‘Cause Kurt Cobain showed it only take one shot
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| We are off the charts, we can’t be stopped
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| Melbourne city stand up like what
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| This is rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
|
| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
|
| Let ‘em know where the fuck we’re from
|
| M-Phazes, Illy Al on a song, now
|
| Rock star shit, yeah baby, come with the hard shit
|
| Turn it to a moshpit, do it like that (like that)
|
| Let ‘em know what the fuck we’re on
|
| Too strong to be stopped, too right to be wrong |