Walkabout (Remix)

Lyrics

[Intro: DJ Big Mac & Lil' Angry Man] Big Mac of the Beefeaters Representin' the one and only Lyrical Commission Yeah, and the sunny sides of Aussie This is Lil' Angry Man sayin' what's up to the boys in Melbourne We goin' walkabout and stickin' and stuffin' up the Parsons And goin' walkabout part 2 Yessir! When we're not smokin' herb, we're listenin' to Lyrical Commission Check it! Large! [Brad Strut] Goin' walkabout! [Verse 1: Trem] Yeah! I slay rappers like gay bashers, bitch-arse You're coppin' wacks off fitsies in commission flat lift shafts Swiggin' hip flasks and casks in the Ponsford Stand With my mate Brad Strut — we straight up Bombers fans! Down on the sands of St Kilda beach Sneakin' a peek of freaks greased up with Reef Oil and sun-bleached hair Without a care, barin' their titties I got the fridgey box stocked with two dozen Melbourne Bigmouth tinnies And six Jimmy and Cokes to quench the bloke's thirst and First to burst into the bar and last to leave at curtains Sun's fallin', pub crawlin', drunk brawlin' Come mornin', I'm hung sprawled on someone's floor and I'll never get that pissed again, I swear to god The hair of the dog's the only cure So where's the grog shop? I need to stop off for a tinnie or two I roll with piss heads, we rip your disco [?]Biggie and crews, it's true I've come to grips with the mic and strike it like the BLF Leavin' a scene of MC's beaten, bleedin' to death From the effects of my killin' spree Now, while these chicken-feet MC's are in some comps spittin' hidden frees I'm off fillin' strippers' G's, sippin' scotch and ice You couldn't make the cut with pocket knives — ya shit's a box and dice Rockin' mics 'cause tonight's for the L-Commish Tell your bitch to douche, don't want no groupies that smell of fish [Verse 2: Lil' Angry Man] Argh! Open up your knuckles when I whisper in your shell like That [???], heard your [?] words are filled with insight That's right, so sit tight, pull up a chair and park your arse Brad Strut and Lil' Angry takin' orders at the bar You're such a [?], tore the hind legs of a donkey, leave it scarred That verbal diarrhea is spreadin' fear like enema Start ya from afar down onto it, the sun is blazin' up Not in London, cool like arbor, it been rainin' cats and dogs Well, sod it, let's ditch the dirt and early salad dodgers Not even coppers stop us when we blast you dirty rotters And if you want it proper, ask the price from happy shopper I can smell a special offer stinkin' up like doorway dossers Costs us £5 to live like kings on student salaries Eatin' bread with different sets of nuts, but same family Lil' Angry [???] baddie, but it all comes down to nerves Puffed up pigeon chest to test and persevere like pullin' birds Should've heard the way she spoke to me "Well, you're not all painted, sweetheart Wouldn't want your meat and two veg' if I was starvin'" I beg your pardon, darling? You need to put a leash on all that jargon You got a face like Frankie Carson, [?] more sat than in garden Full-on short arse, the last bell soundin', eye gougin' Furrow-browed growlin', make 'em squeel like kittens drownin' Plus it's nice to see ya, and to see ya nice Brad — ruff 'em up like rugby players Strip layers and scheme without mic [Verse 3: Brad Strut] Oi! Shitful features I know my type of speech is peaches and cream I'm up in Cobram, on the beach with the beatbox Bottle of Beams, hands, two feet, socks Shoes in a pile of spew, 40 degrees hot So what's new? The pot's fumes make it a weed spot Galahs drivin' in cars far from the tree's top But who the police stop? I will never cease hop-hippin' over rhythms while spittin', the kid's a neat grot (Ease off!) Don't know how to I'm around like sleaze on city streets, and so glad that I bloody found you 'Cause it's a hard call, but that's the way the cards fall On a graffiti art wall, Brad'll tag "Ahh! Fuck y'all!" It's just a bunch of sissies At a function full of pissy puny-minded, blinded schmucks suckin' on ciggies Duckin' when dizzy's a dumb move In one groove, I run through The brilliant badge and takin' tongues tuned tightly With this mic, we walk many kilometers nightly while ya talk about ya shiesty Naught [?]equallin', your sword's feeble in a poor fantasy In rorts randomly, you're caught candidly on camera I haven't the stamina to be mad at ya, mate I take it out on the track and put you back down in your place And that's great, from Bass Strait, I'm known to smash breaks with poems And walkabout's where I'm goin'