|
It's the million militant picture paintin, quick debatin' |
|
I hit terrain my trainers grip the pavin' |
|
The city's depraved decayed, quick to cave in |
|
I kick the greatest game, pick up the pace |
|
Shake the cage, rattle bars, we bare battle scars |
|
Fresh blood out the abbatoir |
|
Avant Garde rappers are ready for champagne and caviar |
|
I stay camouflaged armed with a travel card (travel unchartered paths) |
|
Pass the parcel, I'm partial to parsley, puff it like Bob Marley |
|
Charged without charlie, chalk the score up |
|
Babylon upon us better board the door up |
|
Dancefloors are torn up we tourin' Europe |
|
Warlords secure, **** Tora Bora caves I fornicate with hate |
|
Make love to the break |
|
Each verse a verbal earthquake make the world celebrate my birthday |
|
Sick in the worst way, wastin' away waitin' for first aid |
|
I break bread with the first ape |
|
To walk upright and talk just like a drunk on a rough night ('nuff strife) |
|
Queens sellin' themselves at cut price |
|
Open like butterfly knives it's not nice I rock mic's |
|
Duppy put rock in their pipes |
|
Deprived puppies keep barkin', blockin' my light |
|
Yap yappin' at my ankles |
|
I work so many angles, so my jeans jangle like bangles |
|
I manhandle ample stress, spark bless, then I blow out the candles |
|
Get sweet dreams |
|
[Chorus by Usmaan] |
|
Hybrid fiends dominate your TV screens |
|
Diablo's, near death fiasco's |
|
RUN HARD |
|
Keep your worst thoughts on charge |
|
When you see a mirage |
|
From Gestapo at large |
|
RUN HARD |
|
Fiends dominate your TV screens |
|
Diablo's, near death fiasco's |
|
RUN HARD |
|
Keep your worst thoughts on charge |
|
Towards the mirage |
|
RUN HARD |
|
J Star spit for catharsis, me and Dr Who buil'in' spliffs in the tardis |
|
Leave your reputation tarnished |
|
I talk carnage garnish tracks with ganja and garlic for vampire varmints |
|
Fire for them halfwits, and hard heads who start shit |
|
Any last requests? spark your last spliff |
|
Before you get dragged into darkness |
|
I walk through your palace in the raggedest garments |
|
Baggy hangin' off of my arse shit |
|
I spit arsenic, if you're askin' the wrong questions |
|
In the studio for long sessions |
|
Stressed out about the rent every pound spent lost or lent |
|
Begged borrowed or stolen |
|
Wrestlin' with stress like it's Hulk Hogan baby |
|
That drank the whole cauldron of magic potion |
|
Potent, I patent my own slogan |
|
Alone smokin' a cone, stoned |
|
Approachin' in a Trojan horse, with a hundred heads from up North |
|
Negative and 'nuff coarse of course |
|
Forcefully stormin' your fort |
|
The rebel with a cause without pause for thought it's WAR |
|
RUN HARD |