I never ever entered any beauty contests
|
And I never gave a shit about a supermodel search
|
This verse first busted on my twenty third birthday
|
Earns no cash for rent, now it's rehashed and bent
|
Spent like government sense
|
In the bank, out the bank
|
Like the Kelly gang, they tell us their thanks
|
And crank it up like the PA at a death metal gig
|
This is no lecture or a lesson, I'll just pull off your wig
|
You want to show the world your flow bro, first get a keg (?)
|
I listened to your whole album man, it wasn't that great
|
I haven't dug into crates, so much as searching my mind
|
You're looking for the perfect beat
|
I'm looking for the perfect rhyme
|
This patient practise takes excersize
|
It's like trying to look a someone with the sun in your eyes
|
I never compromise integrity, I'm not a sell out
|
My perspective is infirm, check no penthouse
|
So get the hell out like a rabbit at the races
|
These greyhounds in suits got murder written all over their faces
|
Stressed out like paces places your fake beats (?)
|
Creating image from the simplest speech, it takes weeks
|
I beat the drum like simgle mums till exhausted
|
Devoted to what's important, what's my calling
|
So caution, I forced in and trampling like elefants (?)
|
If you want to contribute son - then keep it relevant
|
|
You're gonna use your effort and time
|
Use your wretched little mind
|
Don't forget your spine, and get the rhyme relevant
|
You wanna rock the spot and give the people what they want
|
But who cares what you give 'em unless you get the rhythym relevant
|
|
You're gonna use your effort and time
|
Use your wretched little mind
|
Don't forget your spine, and get the rhyme relevant
|
You wanna rock the spot and give the people what they want
|
But who cares what you give 'em unless you get the rhythym relevant
|
|
This is for the people, and only for the people to consume
|
It's a method of relaxing, spark em up and write tunes
|
It's just a little thing we developed in our rooms,
|
Voice pad and computer, tools of a user
|
Machinery accompanies the raucous and thoughts
|
And vocal rhythyms, a pleasing little fiery collision
|
Isn't it
|
I want to rip the mic up to bits
|
I wanna dance like a breaker with wings on their hips
|
|
Surely we don't need another half-arsed,
|
brain dead, well dressed
|
breast fed, volume annoying MC
|
on the stage talking Benzies, cash, flows and cars
|
In a wack-induced frenzy, you write your own stars
|
Please man, don't even tempt me
|
You cut yourself in half
|
With your empty bag of battle-raps that's tearing us apart
|
Not looking for the last laugh, nor the past ettiquette (?)
|
I'm just here to contribute and keep it relevant
|
|
You're gonna use your effort and time
|
Use your wretched little mind
|
Don't forget your spine, and get the rhyme relevant
|
You wanna rock the spot and give the people what they want
|
But who cares what you give 'em unless you get the rhythym relevant
|
|
You're gonna use your effort and time
|
Use your wretched little mind
|
Don't forget your spine, and get the rhyme relevant
|
You wanna rock the spot and give the people what they want
|
But who cares what you give 'em unless you get the rhythym relevant
|
|
This is for the losers and the bruisers who just play
|
To win these skills built from uses (?)
|
Now take a minute
|
Improvise on the fly, notice no instructions to read
|
And no greed to be in doubt, plus no [blank]
|
Another day, December 30, when the time has been felt
|
Another year passed on by without the ring of a bell
|
Am I that much older, or that much more an extra burden?
|
I'm not a ????
|
????
|
I'm not a rambler
|
Microphone fiend chit-chatter-er
|
Not a pro, nor an ameteur
|
I'm not a barrister
|
More like Ozi Battla
|
Live and full-frontal
|
Got the flows mixed with substance to confront you
|
We run through like streakers, freak the whole show
|
Not a game ladies and gents - it's all about the pro's
|
That's in poetry sense
|
Plus some samplers, computers
|
Here to alienate the damn pop-consumers
|
Lessons with no tuners
|
All day with the biro
|
With or without hydro, filling out the rhyme book
|
| Just wait for the side-look, I |
