They all got stars in their eyes Bars isn't tight And their heart ain't never as hard as the hype I'm what you like so S-M-B, Smoke My Beef Dirty, let's get some pussy I know you stash mad gash Why don't you introduce me to three? Nah fuck a groupie, it's time London switched rap for dance music and grime And they told me Brighton was hot Brum and Bristol all up in the scene No disrespect there's only Cambridge now see Middle-East of the country, baby, hardest to please Apart from Dike and Big Slang They only really feeling Baxter and Key And Mancunian Don't feel no way nobody hating Just what the fuck you're doing isn't entertaining (Uh-huh. Uh-huh) Yeah swaggerdaddy can't Jack it Cause soon as you lean it forwards I'ma lean it backwards on the track shit Body motherfuckers, standard A man ain't from where you from You don't be rapping in my accent Guess who just got back from the boozer Drinking himself into a stupor, loser Living pissed up without a view for the future But still stay a step ahead just like my huge gut You wanna know the truth bruv? Pussy, weed and alcohol's the only things I do love Plus I couldn't give two fucks Like having brewer's droop While tryna twos up a crew slut It's rap's Larry David The hatred made me take it back to the basics My tongue twists like them K-Swiss Trainers While these young pricks tongue-kiss their mate's anus I ain't tryna make it famous I do it to escape Not for my name in the papers Fuck the love of it That ain't paying my wages So if you don't know me Don't ask me for favours Laters Fuck the clichés, meet Jake the new baron Spit a two-bar that renames your crew Sharon You rappers move I don't want your tunes, you have 'em Loose cannon clashing like my garms Rocking crew patterns But I don't do fashion, I do talent Do passion, do tracks Do yats till their backs do spasms Neck a few gallons of booze and lose balance Hoof that and straight take off like your tune hasn't There's a huge pack of crews rapping average Who couldn't get their shit out with a huge pack of laxatives So you stand and grapple with your bodily deposits My crew's back banging like the brothel in my closet So please keep your mouth in the bottom of your pockets When the CP's about, never bother with the gossip much Hockin' up phlegm, set it off with the Dr. Skuff Dike, Beats, Slang and Mr Constant, Drop it bruv You are now in tune to Dikestar Delegates And Contact Play while Mr. Constant selects the breaks Rowdy like a mental case On a lack of medication That's except I don't fit like the threads I take Anyway Contact Play spitting with delegates Kick like that Ong-Bak brey Missing his elephant No one's a bad influence I'm Mr. Mellowness No girls that won't speak to me Cause I'm a friend of his We're just your everyday, common or garden hedonist Some settled with kids, others are sexual terrorists Or friends with benefits, depends on your opinion If rap is your religion, I'm that heretic to wreck your kingdom What d'you expect from this and that producer I can tell it from the credits I better ready the heavy future You're now in tune to the old next level shit Spit more, better and with much less respect, bitch My name's me and I'm the geezer from the ground floor Sorta sound down, snort I'm not about war I'm not allowed poor my dick takes the fucking piss But I'd cut my wrists before I'd give up and love a bitch I got drugs to sniff, big stuff to bloody shift Big dubs to paint with my shitcunts and fucking pricks Spliff bunnin in my room, trapped in Planning tunes like I'm listening to New Jack Swing I've heard the truth that's grim It's dim lit and dark avenues A shitstack of patterns with a binbag of have-to-dos Think that I'm acting loose It's pissflap the quackpig I've been sick since Pissman the Captain And still average wanking I live by the slog I'm a find a fuck pig And have her dick behind the trunk [?] Agh Mr Dike's a cunt Stand up if you didn't like his stuff Mouth shut and pull your fingers out your cunt Call me the comatose cosmonaut Cop a part cosmic Break codes with a single thought The Ice Age Ironman slowly thaws With his ogre jaws standing so deep on the ocean floor Rate my face twitch and the way my brain ticks Limp-legged hunchback, billin fifty-eight spliffs Until my face splits I spit bars that mean business Like the shades of an agent in the matrix May stick the same disc on every playlist Where you play shit cause every track's amazing And when someone's like: Who the fuck is this? It's a guaranteed fact that Mr. Scissortongue is playing I'm moonwalking down your pavements Rockin Hammer's crime fighting shoes And looking like a vagrant Dancing with cavemen Still seem to rinse some proper soulful rhythm and blues Like the California Raisins It's the herb-thirsty writer Cursing on Dirty's side and Puffing on some durban that's certain to murkalise ya Immersed in the earth slurp turf throwin fireballs The way we're living is like we're not even hire-able So being criminal is certainly more desirable You want clean cut Then a set of surgical knives will do I'm getting higher than burglars On the pergola Getting into your world And then sitting there disturbing you Until you start to switch Cause you thinking of turning murderous It's too late for you Some vultures done circled you I still fly, chilling with that turbulence I live life, a million and one purposes The main two I service A verballist-stroke-herballist I kill you inadvertently Triggering some emergency They always think a pattern I'm not a Doctor, why nurse that shit With no ability they tried to see me Blindfolded, walking the plank that leads to the sea When I need herbs, like the third world needs rice You need words, like a mask in a bank heist Fuck a mic You can barely hold a conversation My rhymes have got the power to move you like immigration Never mistaken, I was born in the wastebin Mesmerised by the fucking snare that I'm chasing Just waiting For my album to be released And my dick's up in your mouth Like a swab from the police [?] Is a beast He'll degrade you like a strip search On some next shit like when you found out that your dick works Your chance to spit first My stance is stood perched You're brain-dead like your real name was lurch You switch up, used to love boom-bap But like a junkie hit dick 'cause you scared of the old track I've got thoughts running round my head like they're speeding Fuck herbs, things could be much worse seeming I'll never stop dreaming, time to stay believing And naturally turn shit dark like an evening I levitate, close my eyes like I meditate Generate a heavy stone Roam hitting better tapes Here to take the something with real hip hop To let everyone know it's time Like really big clocks Tick but don't tock Lose the plot like a needle The one's that you see looking fucked up They're my people And keep what I speak true Because the deep will Make you want to get up Go out and seek sequels If I said I was a rapper Would you preconceive But I'd bet you'd get it totally different to what is me If you want name dropping I'm BVA MC Blow chunks of wisdom when I talk sickly