| Verse 1:
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| It’s all circular boxing
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| It’s all kicking off in the maggot tank
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| First to the top wins the world in a box
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| In my personal lodgings I lurk with my goblins
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| Preserved in the toxins, I burn when I’m cotching
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| Who am I to stop the big shots from stomping?
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| I ain’t King Kong, I’m conking
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| I make Hip Hop and watch my witch doctor waft in
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| Pissed off, I’ve clocked that shit Scott
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| I’m watching
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| I clock the long limbs of the law
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| Box kids in the jaw
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| Watched England at war
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| Got pissed as we all got rinsed and ignored
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| Bombs blister the floor man, I’m watching
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| But I’m still kinda lost in this, bruv
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| Where the fuck are we?
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| Some barely struggle, some brehs will muscle free
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| Some brehs will buckle
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| Some brehs will run at speed, I jog when I have to
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| Stare at the sun and scream
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| Watch when I catch you
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| Prepared for the coming siege
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| Locked in my statue
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| Spare me your fuckin' breeze
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| Something seems amiss
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| Fuck the bleeding wrists
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| Somewhere underneath the thick slime hides the key to this
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| Like a G of sniff, hides the same shriek of piss
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| Miners, minus the feeling in their teeth and lips
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| So feed your weaknesses
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| I need a cheaper fix
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| Give me a beat and I’ll be free 'til the needle skips
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| Verse 2:
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| Something happened today
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| The plan to escape became fact in a magical place
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| I’m backing away from panic in a pacifist state
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| The anarchist days are back is what the analysts says
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| Back in the day, I’d act like a freak looking clever
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| Act deep with the Baxter and keep it together
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| But these days I jack it in, keep it whatever
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| It seems that this rapping thing’s beating my head up
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| MCs get jealous, I put goo in their mind
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| If an MC’s jealous he ain’t doing it right
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| Run your own game
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| Fucking no name prick
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| Have you got no shame?
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| But it’s ok, shit
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| You see what I mean?
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| Maybe it’s just needless to see
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| These penis MCs can suck on all the deepest I speak
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| I ain’t gonna say it, but I’m thinking it what?
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| You ain’t got the balls to rap with all the honesty I’ve got
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| Verse 3:
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| Check check it
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| Yo
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| I do my thing, I don’t get framed and it’s picturesque
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| I blow the gates off of heaven with a single breath
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| Call me doctor finesse
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| Flow’s gonna stop breaths
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| Like monsters stomping on chests
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| Fuck the feds with their wrongful arrest
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| I’ve got an eighth bag of cess in my sock and that’s blessed
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| I’ve got a lot to do yet
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| Bliss ain’t reality, we’re all just surviving
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| Truth sinking in like
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| Drugs in the stomach lining
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| Eyes dilate
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| Destructible mind states
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| High and still rising
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| With no summer rising
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| You’re coming down like the suns on horizons
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| Spit a moment twisted by thunder and lightning
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| No wonder you’re frightened
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| Stuck up in this world full of sex, drugs and violence
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| Fully vibrant
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| Pretty rhymes to tyrants
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| Sitting here, man yeah the sirens seem timeless
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| Verse 4:
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| It’s Verb T, the ghost in the shell
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| Leaving competition all roasting in hell
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| Fools can’t manage, they’re emotionally frail
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| I’ll organise your wake, and then host it as well
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| With very special guest, Jam Baxter
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| We’ll tear you apart with your wack arse
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| The way you flip the beat
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| Wow, that’s art-
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| Istry, yeah it’s spineless
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| The license to drive 'em insane when I’m blowing out clouds through my sinus
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| Find I’m in prime condition with the rhyming
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| When I’m on the beat, flipping keys like Linus
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| Right fist right to your jaw make your spine twist
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| My sharp tongue can cut diamonds
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| Fuck writing, I’m sketching with your mum letching
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| Watch me caress this
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| Meanwhile your dad force you to play wrestling
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| Verse 5:
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| Don’t call it a comeback
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| My style’s still sharper than a thumbtack
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| Guaranteed that I’ll be bringing heat just like a sun trap
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| So pick a beat and let me bust raps
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| I’ve got the industry acting like young lads
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| Their minds stuck on one track
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| It’s mister Benny Huge back with an extended crew
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| Should be getting credit due, from Leicester to Belarus
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| I make you grimace like the cheapest vodka
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| So stop trying to find fault with how I serve you like a secret shopper
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| You know you can’t knock it
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| I’m dope as narcotics
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| Haters are no hopers, like they go to art college
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| They got me sardonic, think I flop? |
| Far from it
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| Everything you’ve heard up until now was just to start off with
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| The mood’s switching as soon as the tune kicks in
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| Even recent abuse victims are soon chilling
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| I’ve got crews bricking it, cos every time this dude’s spitting
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| A teeny bopper rapper has a break down like
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| Verse 6:
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| I leave the latch on heavens gate open for my closest heads
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| Sniff and smoke and drink and spit with jokes until I go to bed
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| Choked and bled, I’m dry
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| But left alive, I guess I tried my best
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| Life and death cycles get decided in your final breath
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| Simon says
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| Metal giants like it’s Rodney Brooks
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| Could’ve done a lot of good, but fuck it I’m a rotten crook
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| Watch me, got 'em hook lined and sinker her like a fisher price
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| Thinking like I’m different, like it matters if I give a shite
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| What happened?
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| Civilised as savages with slitty guys
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| Or marriages in pretty white or Paris in the spring
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| We find our happiness in living lies
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| Life’s adapting to this shit
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| I tried staring at the phantom in the mirror like
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| «Aw fuck, another grubby bastard I can’t trust»
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| He’s mush, hard luck
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| Heat up your disgust and adjust
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| It’s survival of the fittest here
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| Make my final wishes crystal clear as I disappear |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Everyone, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп