[Verse 1: Hau]
|
You dirty rat, talking shit trying to send me back
|
To hell from where you came from
|
You sing that same song, every time I hear you
|
It sounds like you off ya flame plus you drink too much beer too
|
Your queer crew aren't shit neither
|
A bit eager to get a kid beater
|
With the blunt side of a machete
|
It's my cunt side that's so upsetting
|
Letting off steam like tutsi Quasar streams
|
Empty ya dreams, getting ripped at the seams
|
Harsh are the words from a biblical fiend
|
Cussing out the evil in you
|
It's amazing what evil people will do
|
To get the chance to dance and swing with the king
|
Shine without the bling bling
|
But B-Boys can't understand cause it's a Koolism thing see
|
Single-handedly, or even if I got my uncle down with me
|
We're taking out your whole family
|
From nephews, to second cousins, to your old bitch
|
To your half brother, down to your gold fish (oh ish)
|
You understanding me? Cause it's hunting season
|
And picking them off your family tree like
|
One by one, two by two, the almighty Koolism crew
|
The who is who of Aussie hip-hop
|
While I'm a sick cunt, your just a sick cock
|
In a piss trough so piss off
|
|
[Verse 2: Suffa]
|
MC's think they're too deaf, to hear what I'm telling them
|
But they can't see me like tattoos on melanin
|
I'm large like Van Halen in the 80's
|
Ladies I love, ladies can't step bitches
|
Cut the track til it requires stitches
|
Like fruit fly in citrus, I'm I'll-tech like Tetris
|
? Just skill?, come and see what my vocal fetches
|
I give open lectures, in the park under Wattle trees
|
Until a fight sparks, and someone's baptised by the bottle we
|
Try chill, but it bothers me, that violence always erupts
|
The crowd is feeling me, like a pair of perfect D cups
|
Yo we up in here like last year's out of here
|
The hoods up, in here til we tired or out of beer
|
And we represent it, like the sort of the state
|
And we staying independent like the ward of the state
|
Yo I'm-bored-of-the-fake, hi fake! Named Suffa, pleased to meet ya
|
I live inside the mind of the listener through the speaker
|
(Is that your beeper?) No it's my phone, I got it on-beeper-and-vibrate
|
I rock's it for my people til my people's pupils dilate
|
Yo why hate, those on top, I'm coming from the bottom
|
Cut the track to my man who comes and puts the pressure on em!
|
|
[Verse 3: Pressure]
|
I look MC's in their eyes and ask em what they think's wrong with this rap scene
|
And what their lacking, thinking that here I got their vaccine
|
I'm wavering from their battering with the slip of my mix
|
Think they can battle with headphones until they listen to this!
|
Kicking the hits, the Hoods and Koolism, I'm serious this
|
Is guaranteed to get some head nod til you slip and you diss
|
So persist with a diss! Man you believe it?
|
But they aren't even half-stepping, nah man they more like paraplegic
|
I rock em til they cease and keep it rough when get fucked
|
When I leave em scarred so hard they wouldn't heal if Jesus touched them
|
The rough blend like masturbating with a cheese grater
|
The MC breaker, never been a faker, please I'm greater!
|
By any means I make the track pound
|
Whether that be taking your integrity and exposing, yeah that's wack sound
|
Back down! Pressure got you where your caught, end it Suffa, swerve!
|
Step into the cipher, it's another world
|
|
-----------------
|
Another World
|
| Hilltop Hoods |
