
Date of issue: 10.04.2005
Song language: English
Separated At Birth |
Well hello, hey, top of the morn', bonjour |
bueno Dias, I got the water, |
heres a teabag |
format we need three cups |
plus sugar milk, A few spoons |
to stir it all up |
but be careful, shit is hot, like lava |
hotter than a fat fuck, jogging in a sauna |
hotter than eating a jalapeno pepper |
straight out the jar, in a flaming car |
me and ab diggy be raising bars |
straight slaughtering snares, kicks, high hats and bass guitars |
While your record is a waste of paper, ink, and breaks |
your getting no play like Clay Aiken’s balls |
no play, similar to self hating hermaphrodites |
the slice of abdominal busts raps so tight |
borat says: its like innards of young bulls |
girls screaming like there vibrating tongue tools |
Chorus, |
we’re separated at birth |
that’s demonstrated in the verse |
its orchestrated and rehearsed |
abs and d on stage we go to work |
the spectators go berserk |
when we be saying these words |
the records playing in the blurb |
format with beats that make ya neck turn |
turn the mic’s up, turn the lights down |
turning wax on the table supplies the sound |
B-boys turning on the ground |
probably keep turning till the earth stops turning around |
now I’m guessing |
its refreshing |
to be checking |
emcees of this calibre |
gripping the mic tight like Arthur did Excalibur |
serve format of the round tables |
With abs and d its like the stuff found in fables |
fuck entertainment |
D and A-B go invade the stage |
and rain more than?? |
Reiner? |
Fuck rain we’re more than rain, |
we’re hail so hail hip hops hottest pair |
of Canadian rhyme Sages |
and the UK’s hottest beat maker slash |
the hottest fingertips to ever grace the record player |
basically the hottest trio |
bringing beats and flows |
hotter than a cool walk or steaming toes |
chorus, |
All format wanted was a little ditty |
he could spin his shindig |
so he said «D-siggy |
you got anything to give me» |
So I scribbled on a piece of tissue |
with a pencil and scripted |
the illest lyric |
ever written |
in the history of fingers |
over this beat with the flute loop |
get loose |
shoot the gift of gab |
abs |
smooth like a baby in a zoot suit |
more flavour than a bowl of fruit loops |
your style’s what comes out my poop shoot |
played like wearing true boots |
and it’s a stupid move |
to try to foolishly prove |
anything to these two super dudes |
Your due to conclude |
its no use |
like trying to shoot hoops |
versus midgets |
zooted off of glue fumes |
your styles like white people |
wearing moo moo’s |
by fubu |
??wear? |
pens is praising zoo loo |
confused to |
say the least even your crew new |
that you’d loose before this tune |
was through dude |
chorus, |
Name | Year |
---|---|
Battleaxe ft. Bishop Lamont, D-Sisive, Dilated Peoples | 2012 |
GG Allin | 2011 |
Up | 2008 |
Another Day ft. Bender, D-Sisive | 2018 |
Lights Out | 2008 |
Spaceship Earth ft. Edan | 2012 |
Laundry Room | 2008 |
Kneecaps | 2008 |
Ambulance | 2008 |
Brian Wilson | 2008 |
English Lesson | 1999 |
Ali Baba ft. DJ Format | 2008 |