The Bitches

Lyrics

This is real and I ain't nothing like a movie star I was robbing when you run around for QPR And now you're coming out your shell and tryna tell me suttin I was spittin, they was snipping at your belly button Acting gully, making noise like a smoke alarm On a stage, slap your face 'til I broke my arm Getting big for your boots 'cause your grammar's heavy Why you stepping when you told me you're a fan already? Now you're dissin all my fam and all aof Canonbury Little fassy, put you in your pram with teddies I was doing burglaries when you ran in wellies And blowing bubbles in a party that had brang in jellies Blud you need to disappear like you was Makaveli Bring your cannon to the 'Bury like you're bad and heavy Big mistake to say my whole fam are fayries You made my manor scary 'cause my fam are now your adversaries All these brown heads are madder than a gang of yetis Jab a needle in your neck just for a bag of pennies I'm interplanetary, London is my city though Raised in the 'Bury but my second home is Pimlico I run in Battersea and Camberwell you little ho Never would I diss the south side of the river bro' I got fans from Paris to Slovakia, Jerusalem, Australia You're feeling like a failure Instead of railing up, go and put some records out I'll leave your head without a neck before I'm stepping down You and your pipe spend nights with the Reaper innit It's deeper, innit blud, robbing for the fever clinic I heard you robbed your own friend (Chemo) and left his flat converted He went away, you sold his studio to "Crack Converters" And that's a man who helped you out and would've backed your purpose That's the place of no return until you scratched the surface All this talk about crime—I'm a criminal Way before your time, making me original Making you a duplicate Fucking with the nucleus! I been in the game since Mickey's sold root beers Now you're running round and calling on a wild one Calling out my tunes when it's me you got your styles from You dutty scallywag, smelling like a fanny rag Calling out my name like a backpacking anorak Talking shit about he's gunnin' and he's fightin' And he's running with his knife ting and they run him out of Brighton Blud! I'm gutter, there ain't nothing here that's middle class None of us are chi-chi, and you're watching man a little hard A little vision now you're thinking that you're living large Never make the king, the most you'll be is just the kid in charge And I'm the father figure, blud You should've figured hard Bring the bigger bars The bigger bars they leave the bigger scars And in Battle Scars, you was in my space quick Blud your halitosis nearly gave a man a face lift Your insecurity led to speculation If I cussed you and your sides on some far-away occasion I never dissed the man, that's no elaboration He told me he's a fan and 'can we do collaborations?' I was sitting there with my mind on some better things Then I get a ring and I hear the final evidence Here we go again, the trials of a veteran You can bring your dogs blud, I'll set a fucking vet on them! And careful how you talk, 'cause you never know Any man can come and put a bug up in your telephone... [Outro, phonecall between Chester P & Wordsmith]