Lyrics

So you come in with your mad face Me I'll slap the bad taste up out your mouth And leave a blood stain on your fat lace I slap Grace, you're the reason why the rats race You're looking like a pussy So they see it like a cat chase I'm iller than your virtue Gorillas wanna hurt you I'm a sinner and I'm work proof Lyrically I'll merk you My rats could leave holes up in your garms of your birth suit My bars are like a demonic spell that's gonna curse you Your bars are like a car that could only go in circles My pockets like a bank that only takes reds and purples My date pays for her food Only on her birthday would I ever buy her perfume I stagger for the first move A couple of the worst dudes Run up to your door Instead of knocking man'll burst through Run off with your things And leave you nothing but the worst mood My family will run up on your girl and take her purse too And leave her with your first yout' I'm sorry if it hurts you But how the hell you ever be a thug and go to church too And if you was a shotta blud you'd always have the worst food And you ain't got a friend man So who you gonna serve to? The guy you spit your verse to? The same guy who's playing your tunes on all the stations The same guy you tried to explain with altercation I heard that you're fucking during daily masturbation 'Cause the both of them are living in your strange imagination Dweller in the cellar I'm the flames in the basement I rearrange your face with a statement Your heads on your shoulders I swear I put your face on the pavement And your name on a grave being paced by a raven The rise of the grey sun I bury you at stage one It's me who invented what your whole style's based on If rap was religion then I'd have to play Shaitan Game done breathe smoke in my shamed lungs You catch breeze like a air suckin' blud No one said you're a Rasta Just because you wanna wear locks You shouldn't speak until your fear stops Billy woulda cried me a river But I scared away your teardrops And I remember all your haunts and your beer spots They see me when I'm comin' When I'm comin'up on their block And I ain't travelling with spare props You're the kinda kid to fly Air Dutch Run up into customs and declare crops Do a li'l bird up on the hells rock But did it all locked on the paedophile cell block Released after twenty weeks Then you wantin' jail props It's fishy I could smell lots The fuck you tryna sell pots? You're nuttin' real fam Me I'll bang you up like a steel pan In a steel band with a steel hand I still slam peace to the steal fam And Max tryna steal grams I did it back then and I still can It's early doors nickin' yoghurts off the milk van And all your long life you've been livin' like the Lilt man I'm out of pocket while you're livin' in a silk clam Fuck guilt man, just enjoy it while you still can 'Cause I ain't living with a real plan I figure that I spit enough to thrill fans I'm quick enough to kill jams And still bang with a real twang And I still can spit real nang For the real fans and real mans