Lyrics

[Intro] DJ Kansel Damo Simplex, Words One MC Fuck Everyone, taipan fangs Call me Adolf Spitler Battlehoggs, Volume Two, motherfuckers [Verse] As soon as I start to rattle off, Kansel's got Every man and his dog mad to cop the Battlehoggs' back catalogue My new flow will confuse blokes like [?] Wearin' [?] at the Telstra Dome with the roof closed The rap scene's a bunch o' fags, my personal punchin' bags They're dumb and sad like undergrads workin' for Onion Mag You know my lyrics are dope, I wasn't dissin' you blokes It was a joke like _ journalistic approach (nerd) Poppin' off at the mouth with propulsion in my lungs Could run a Gatling gun from the holes in my fuckin' tongue Who's the illest in the game, hands down? Put your hands up Only thing comin' off the top of your head's your dandruff [?], the page I wrote this on was blood stained [?], fuck fame, makin' [?] love pain I'm the [?], rap to get you gay riled Your fake style sound like you ripped the WAV file from Eight Mile What the fuck, you white piece? You MCs've gone weak The [?] DVD's a documentary on me Rip mics so hard, got callouses and ill blisters Only sweet sixteen you ever kicked was your little sister I will trash a can, freeze and retreat to you [?] MCs See what happens when you rap around me Scribe moved two-hundred thou' while I stayed underground I should dumb it down and punch the crown in the stomach now I'm Hell's disciple with a Celtic Bible I'll make a self-titled twelve inch vinyl sound like church bell recitals I'll be trashin' the wires with my passionate fires While Kansel cuts on the wheels like he's slashin' your tyres I'll bow down to no one I'll get down with Yakuza gangs that literally get distributed by Shogun You're runnin' home early, think of why I'm so dirty Only dingo at the Logies, you dogs won't serve me I read a review that said my flow is monotonous That's preposterous, what? You want me to rhyme like I'm Optamus? What? You want me to spit over dirty sound snare hits And change my shit up like I'm Ludacris? "Oh yeah, bitch" I talk sweats at these airheads I know blokes that'll beat these fags down with chair legs 'til their hair's red and they're dead You do Aussie rap songs, I do hip-hop music You bump D-Classified Files and got pissed off to it Take a walk and enter inside the door of a foul mind My subject matter's darker than the brown guy from Downsyde Hot off the street presses, ring the tabloids in "Kansel makes other DJs look like Fatboy Slim" How did bringin' albums out get so easy I needa get it out of my system [?] Bliss n Eso CDs I'll turn you sucker actors to piles a dust and ashes The only rappers you ever ripped was off your fuckin' Macca's Okay, you're old school, doesn't mean that you kill the track You rap for years and you're still whack, what's the deal with that? It sounds like you dropped a CD full of filler songs Simplex gave me nineteen beats to kill 'em on Have to rap in a mic booth with a suit that is fireproof Heard your track and your rhymes, dude, Dracula wouldn't bite you MC Fuck Everyone with a Wolverine glove on one Hand and a Freddie one on the other, try test me, son You best be runnin' like [?] from the ATO Prank call to your home's only time you're played on the radio Don't wanna get burnt by fire, don't enter in a cypher If you had a son, would you let him join the church choir Once I snap your vinyl in half, you're finished, poof The records that I break won't get me into the Guinness book My battles were my launchpad, I build a rocket ship And took off, now I'm spaced out, above you when I'm droppin' shit My rap's eerie You could punch a shark in the nose to make him go to how many blokes test that theory Sorry if I left you sad, it was meant to get you mad You servin' me won't happen like Brad Strut and Pegz collabs You sound like a spoken word nerd when you flow a verse I do the _ in a _ shirt "Damn, did he just go there? He's too shady" I'm so wrong, George Bush was like, "Fuck, dude's crazy" On the mic, I'm gettin' wrong [?] [?] the contents of Magic Johnson's condom on them I make [?] look like high-five You turn a blind eye like you just called the [?] on his right side We're all mates, there's no reason to not keep it honest Cats'll cop this off the [?] to this song bein' on it If you got beef, settle, I'm the MC Devil Your label's droppin' your album soon on the release schedule Yeah, he said it, this MC will never be better My clean edit is iller than your dirtiest beef records They wanna know about the man behind the verses Do they want a photocopy of the picture of my driver's permits? So when the curtain drops and it stops after showtime Be like a _ punchline and don't rhyme It's more than a bunch a dumb cunts that say I'm raw They think I'm [?] with the fucked [?] way I talk Clearer than liquid crystal, you're minuscule Like every single arse pixel with digital television signals Think this slug's little, I will make your blood drizzle [?] I'll leave a thug crippled with scud missles "Oh no now, he's reppin' like a studio gangster will Where he's still spittin' like that [?] wanker" Do you really think that I will come with some gun shit When I talk a four four, some metaphor form a tongue, bitch? Why don't you just fuckin' look? You punks are so dumb, my next album comes a hundred pages structure book Oh, did he just go there? You can't hack it Your flow's off, my flow's off the hook, the shark spat it The rawest lyric head, talkin' shit and spittin' violent You bought my shit and didn't like it, I saw your shit and didn't buy it I've got a chainsaw for a mouth instead, clowns Rem, rem, rem, don't lose your head now That's it, bitch, I'm out now This was a blatant publicity stunt for D-Classified Files, out now [Outro] Motherfuckers, what? Battlehoggs, Kansel, Damo