Song Meaning

This track kicks off with a declaration of intent: the Mongrels are here to dominate. The intro sets a confident, almost boastful tone, promising to make listeners "bounce more than a conman's cheque." It's a direct challenge, establishing the crew's presence and their aim to deliver an impactful performance right from the jump. The energy is high, and the message is clear: prepare for a serious hip-hop experience. Fatface's verse grounds the bravado in relatable, everyday indulgence, particularly around drinking. He contrasts his "full effect" flow with the artificiality of "margarine," suggesting authenticity in his craft. The lyrics paint a picture of a rapper who finds inspiration and a certain "funk" when under the influence, linking his creative process to "sculling down a lager." This verse highlights a duality: the desire for authentic hip-hop expression intertwined with a hedonistic lifestyle, where even hangovers are just "pesky" compared to the horror of "a pub with no beer." Mass MC shifts the focus to the crew's collective identity and their dominance over weaker MCs. He describes his crew as "crossbred" and "humble," yet capable of "dismember[ing] ones that mumbled lyricism." The verse touches on the vibrant underground scene, mentioning "B-boys and girls" and "vapors on walls," suggesting a gritty, authentic environment. There's a sense of pride in their local scene and their unique style, contrasting with the generic or "weak" competition they aim to conquer. Pressure's contribution emphasizes a relentless pursuit of perfection and survival in the rap game. He positions himself as a "true survivor" delivering essential messages, not just what listeners might want. The lyrics critique those who create "trash" and "wack creations," contrasting them with his own "100 percent saturation" and "heavy" presence on the track. This verse is about authenticity, hard work, and proving worth, suggesting a journey of paying dues and earning respect within the hip-hop community. Suffa's verse solidifies the crew's status as "foot soldiers for the hip-hop nation." He directly challenges notions of his own standing, asserting his position as a top b-boy who keeps "crowds packed from wall to wall." The lyrics celebrate the culture's roots, imported from New York, and its enduring power within them. The closing lines, "It's hip-hop, it lives inside of us / And we only let it out when we bust," encapsulate the raw, uncontainable energy and passion that drives the crew and their music.

Crossbred Mongrels & Hilltop Hoods - Rap, Australia

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[Intro: Fatface & Pressure] It's the Mongrels, the Hoods and DJ Bonez With Mass MC and four microphones We're about to get down, and prove we catch wreck And make you bounce more than a conman's cheque [Verse 1: Fatface] I'm in full effect (What?), like PJ's magazine All my flows are butter 'cause I don't use margarine Mate, spread the word, Fatface is dropping raps I got your head nodding to the kicks, snare and claps Perhaps you need a drink? Well, shout me one too When I bust lyrics, I get thirsty for a brew Why not grab a slab? I'm sure the Hood's agree "There's nothing like a coldy, even better when it's free" Stylish rhymes get flexed, especially when I'm drunk The piss in my system brings out the funk Sometimes I run amok, but now I'm just maxin' Back to the beat, that's my way of relaxin' I live for hip-hop, then sculling down a lager Ever [?] a hangover and the headaches seem harder What I really can't stand is a pissed, bogan wanker [?] more than Warney hates Sri Lanka Still my life is chill, it's kinda like an Esky Do I have any complaints? They're all pretty pesky Maybe alcohol poisoning, but that I don't fear The one thing I do is a pub with no beer [Verse 2: Mass MC] Now I'm a crossbred that's humble Mass MC be [?] dismember ones that mumbled lyricism Crews locked in verbal prison, their style's weak While dominion crew work a collab on Hilltop's streets This is my fam, Debris hard up for once When he ate mega RAMs Studio got more lights than a [?] Caravan All I smell in Adelaide is cones I ain't seen an ugly chic yet, or skyscrapers But heaps of vapors on walls, it's for a cause B-boys and girls in this part of Aus rock for sure Mad yumps run underground plantations (Ha) I see it in their faces, they're deeper than Hattians DJ Bonez spin faster than a scuzzy two drive Hahahahaha, run and hide So how could you even think of tryna do these things? I put fishing line on your hands and feet [?] pulling strings [Verse 3: Pressure] Now who the MCs that bring it liver and tighter From freestyle writers, to biters, DJ Bones the insider Now, perfection's what I strive for, 'cause I'ma true survivor Hear my voice from the underground, 'less you a diver Now put your hands together for the sound provider 'Cause many found desire to cover ground that's higher Than these men speaking in tongues that make your eardrums bleed Not here to give 'em what they want, we here to give 'em what they need But some got fascination for the trash they make and they just masturbation Laceration's from pubescent infatuations I rock tracks, 100 percent saturation It all comes down to the cash we're making and wack creations From stagnations blocking your airways MCs rocking for airplay, won't you stop in Belair way? Ah, Pressure set it in motion, I gets heavy on the track I took some from hip-hop, but got a whole lot back Got cut a whole lot of slack, paying dues, from twisting caps Now they insistin' that I kick a rap, so where the listeners at? (All gathered around) I'll make moves to pay dues Mate, who's the one to break youse and your fake crews? That's late news, now I socialise with the local guys Put it on wax to vocalise global wise And I don't stop the rock, you know we won't, Suffa Show 'em how we [?] show 'em how we don't [Verse 4: Suffa] Well, I'd like to know where You got the notion (Suffa MC) Said, I'd like to know where You got the notion (DJ Bonez, DJ Debris) That I'm not number one b-boy, [?] all of y'all Keepin' crowds packed from wall to wall So rock, rock y'all (Rock y'all), don't stop y'all (Stop y'all) Yes, yes y'all (Yes y'all), you keep on, like Time, marching in formation, Hilltop is (Is) Foot soldiers for the hip-hop nation Battling flows with flows, battling hoes at shows Lyrical can doe, lyrical can doe So smash (Smash), backslash, I take your title With the sewer sounds of my suicidal recital Who is down? You better be, 'cause this rhyme will Cut up MCs like DJs on vinyl T—time will be the final decider So when it comes down to it the underground fluid Shall rise to the top and flood these streets with Suffa's speech over muddy beats Wassup, we speak, we build, we talk On a culture imported here from New York It's hip-hop, it lives inside of us And we only let it out when we bust

Credits

Writers: DJ Bonez
DJ Debris
Flak
Mass MC
Suffa
MC Pressure

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