Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Base, artist - Smellington PiffDate of issue: 07.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Base |
| Another cretinous one |
| Who’s forever in debt cos he spends his fund on getting drunk |
| On apple and rum and 7 up |
| Then the other type of lemon crush zesty puff |
| Could forever explain how I’m best at joining letters together |
| Down and letting the ink spread around |
| It’s dark comedy when your beheading a clown |
| Pretending the pen is a weapon I found |
| Under the ledge of a hedge on the ground |
| Whilst sitting down figuring out what this life is about |
| I’m quick to bring diction out |
| Like my tongue slips from my mouth |
| Running in the house |
| Slippers without |
| So when I slid down only I could be blamed for incidents that where committed |
| around |
| So if your wrong take it on the chin and stop copying |
| (Jack Jetson) |
| Fuck critically acclaimed |
| I’m clinically insane |
| Mine field |
| Picking at the lyrics in my brain |
| You want to go against me man |
| Your pissing in the rain |
| Just a drop in the ocean |
| I’m a spinning hurricane |
| Quickly twisting up your frame |
| Hard hitting like a needle filling up your vein |
| After sniffing tonnes of cain |
| I’m ripping up the game like a ticket for the train |
| When I say I’m tripping out I don’t mean sitting on a plane |
| Going to India or Spain |
| I mean I’m out my face |
| I’ll travel on a fucking submarine to outer space |
| And I’ll be cleaning out your place |
| Jacking everything you own |
| Cracking every single dome |
| Till it shatters into splintered bone |
| I’m rinsing homes for the fridge and phone |
| Skimming stones |
| Across the river jack strange son |
| John the ripper |
| Opposite of all this poppy shit |
| A proper spitter |
| Dropping litter |
| It’s a wrap like a donner pitta |
| (Eric the Red) |
| Can’t get me to do shit if I’m high at home |
| I’m likely to flip out if I’m not feeling stoned |
| Me and Piff are sick of MCs with monotone |
| Accents when you talk like a 600 chrome |
| I’ll punch you out |
| Cos my temperament is rocky |
| Repeat myself again just like a carbon copy |
| It seems dodgy like a knock off Swatch |
| But I’m spectator I’m a chill back and watch |
| The madness unraveling |
| I’m hunched over coched |
| Here to fuck up shit like a job that’s been botched |
| Weighing you down just like a breeze block |
| Your pitiful attempts I sit back and mock |
| Can’t make a move cos I’ve been black listed |
| The was a point there but I think I might have missed it |
| That’s wishful thinking blood |
| Now I wouldn’t risk it |
| I’m still hungry for the food chewing on a brisket |
| (Smellington Piff) |
| Funkadelic tripping off the psilocybin |
| Walking through the walks as my fickle mind divides them |
| Obstacles combusting like a stick of dynamites inside em |
| Trying to move the water like Poseidon |
| Enough bass to cause an earthquake or shake an island |
| Moving like a migrant |
| Thumping like a migraine |
| Sparking up a blunt as I’m tearing down the highway |
| Nothing there in my way can really fuck up my day |
| I’m living like its Friday and I’m never hitting Monday |
| Swigging Bombay Sapphire |
| Chucking twigs on the bonfire |
| Fuck anyone that wants to conspire |
| Once you turn liar |
| Situations turn dire |
| We burn kaya till our eyes run red |
| Fuck what the feds said |
| Your best to just drop dead like Fred did |
| The skinny fat fucker on a mixed grill diet |
| The music’s a revolution |
| Riot |
| (Leaf Dog) |
| Make the pussy strip like Catwoman in a comic |
| Always say that they’re coming like a burnt out comet |
| A new addition badly spelt with a raw topic |
| Seeing more leaves than a scenery that’s all tropic |
| Get your tales ringed like sonic |
| It’s possible and take advice from a stoned out oracle |
| Think logical and act like my brains missing |
| Ghost writtens will appear like an apparition |
| Said to run the tracks like an athletes position |
| Expose secrets after the mission |
| Zuggy bag going missing |
| My whole teams spitting |
| Bring it back to life like the dead’s risen |
| Tripping like I’m walking on live wires |
| Reminiscing every time I smell burnt tyres |
| They ain’t around like old pot suppliers |
| And ain’t convincing like forgetful liars |
| (BVA) |
| R.L Dedicated |
| Fuck rap just defecated |
| Always premeditated |
| Thoughts that levitated |
| I never hesitated |
| Rap cos why not |
| Freestyle like a right cock |
| Fuck 10 bags I buy crops |
| Relaxed sat with a fat one stroking the cat |
| Vocals attack like a crazy ex waving a bat |
| Laziest twat that spends his time grazing the mat |
| Fuck the track and now I’m dating her and making her fat |
| Call me what you want |
| You can bet I ain’t listening |
| Spitting raps since this buckies christening |
| Missioning for weed like we’re digging for diamonds that are glistening |
| Rather be underrated than a puppet with a fist in him |
| My posse make your favourite rapper need the potty |
| Flip the topic like a girl that wants it in botty |
| Pastey skin from the years worshipping the shotty |
| Mary Jane the only lady that has got me |