| I’m Slick like a Johnny Barnes scissor kick
|
| Round ours Robbie’s God and Grobbelaar’s Innocent
|
| Shankly’s sons, early 90's Cassy scum
|
| Taxing CAPRI Sun’s and stashing them at me Mums
|
| A lack of funds, gather crumbs and sink bevies
|
| The kids on the express way bridges that flick pennies
|
| Why even try like? |
| You’ll get YOUR fucking eye wiped
|
| It’s not a fickle minds life, thinking
|
| Picking at me chicken fried rice
|
| Indifferent, bizzies listen in and think we’re bickering
|
| The kip of them though I’m sick of them
|
| Like a clique of blind mice that wouldn’t notice if I told them
|
| And they lived and died twice
|
| Ignant? |
| Quite right, the world in which we live in
|
| Is a massive ball of izm and I’m a master of all that isn’t
|
| Caught you slipping, called your WOMEN over
|
| Tripping sober, until I’m rich as shit tipping Hova
|
| Class, like Minnesota Fatts
|
| By the look of their silhouettes I think their holding bats
|
| Not a splab lad take a wholesome drag
|
| Rolling stoned 'til I’m broken bad
|
| Even Obi Wan Kenobi’s blagged
|
| Blah lid, fucking you up for something your Ma did
|
| Just to rhyme it, undermining major up and coming signings
|
| Spitting like the first proletarian that ever rhymed a word
|
| Mostly shit about Mary and the times we shared, on this DYINGearth |