歌曲 | Monsters Ball Restrung |
歌手 | Hilltop Hoods |
专辑 | The Hard Road: Restrung |
作曲 : Francis, Lambert, Simmonds ... | |
Verse 1 – Suffa | |
You sound like a ******* man, | |
Nymphos in your clip and disco riffs man, | |
I'll tell you this, OK, it don't fit man, | |
It's like OJ, little glove, big hand, | |
Step to this I'll take your miss, make her twist and, | |
Moan, like I ****** with the pitch man, | |
This land where the bricks stand, | |
On red sands, I spit grams of powdered Difflam, | |
To ease your muscle pain, do the hustle, | |
Came to tussle against the corporate gain man, | |
Parcels move train to plane in the struggle, | |
Markers give a claim to fame in the jungle, | |
Street revolutionaries, we the evolutionary, | |
Anomalies, but stupidly they try stopping me, | |
That's only making me a martyr we, | |
Like opiates in the vein, attack the arteries, | |
Don't get smart with me; I got a heart in me, | |
Like Pharlap, and gone so far raps now a part of me, | |
I got camaraderie, the great unwashed, | |
I got a heart in me that pump's straight up scotch, | |
But crews still try to diss me, till I switch it on em, | |
Like they try to diss Fats, till they see a picture of him, | |
Big boys, aint small man, they tall and, | |
Ugly, want to cut me come join and join the monsters ball man. | |
Verse 2 – Pressure | |
These are the last of days, a vast array, | |
Of fake ******s up in a masquerade, | |
It's swim or drown, we act we don't sink, | |
Its primal instinct we rap we don't think, | |
Its do or die, no turning back like suicide, | |
Till you're doing time with these cut throats in a suit and tie, | |
So don't feed the animals, or act a fool, | |
Your just one man, a young lamb amongst a pack of wolves, | |
While you're fighting over scraps and loose change and moot claims, | |
Pressures higher up in the food chain, | |
And small time predators rove in packs, | |
That why big time executives throw them scraps, | |
So much static that this is such a hazardous business, | |
And having to witness that half these rappers are *******, | |
Got me laughing hysterically, I've the heart of a pedigree, | |
So pissing on the next man is just marking my territory, | |
Rivals will claim over head strong beef, | |
And try, fighting for fame on these slept on streets, | |
While I'm, signing my name in the wet concrete, | |
Touching both sides of your brain when I flex on beats, | |
And when we sound the drums, I'll see cowards hung, | |
When my hour comes I'd rather catch a beat down than run, | |
It's just that honest, I don't rap for these monsters, | |
Id rather face the music than turn my back on you. |
zuò qǔ : Francis, Lambert, Simmonds ... | |
Verse 1 Suffa | |
You sound like a man, | |
Nymphos in your clip and disco riffs man, | |
I' ll tell you this, OK, it don' t fit man, | |
It' s like OJ, little glove, big hand, | |
Step to this I' ll take your miss, make her twist and, | |
Moan, like I with the pitch man, | |
This land where the bricks stand, | |
On red sands, I spit grams of powdered Difflam, | |
To ease your muscle pain, do the hustle, | |
Came to tussle against the corporate gain man, | |
Parcels move train to plane in the struggle, | |
Markers give a claim to fame in the jungle, | |
Street revolutionaries, we the evolutionary, | |
Anomalies, but stupidly they try stopping me, | |
That' s only making me a martyr we, | |
Like opiates in the vein, attack the arteries, | |
Don' t get smart with me I got a heart in me, | |
Like Pharlap, and gone so far raps now a part of me, | |
I got camaraderie, the great unwashed, | |
I got a heart in me that pump' s straight up scotch, | |
But crews still try to diss me, till I switch it on em, | |
Like they try to diss Fats, till they see a picture of him, | |
Big boys, aint small man, they tall and, | |
Ugly, want to cut me come join and join the monsters ball man. | |
Verse 2 Pressure | |
These are the last of days, a vast array, | |
Of fake s up in a masquerade, | |
It' s swim or drown, we act we don' t sink, | |
Its primal instinct we rap we don' t think, | |
Its do or die, no turning back like suicide, | |
Till you' re doing time with these cut throats in a suit and tie, | |
So don' t feed the animals, or act a fool, | |
Your just one man, a young lamb amongst a pack of wolves, | |
While you' re fighting over scraps and loose change and moot claims, | |
Pressures higher up in the food chain, | |
And small time predators rove in packs, | |
That why big time executives throw them scraps, | |
So much static that this is such a hazardous business, | |
And having to witness that half these rappers are , | |
Got me laughing hysterically, I' ve the heart of a pedigree, | |
So pissing on the next man is just marking my territory, | |
Rivals will claim over head strong beef, | |
And try, fighting for fame on these slept on streets, | |
While I' m, signing my name in the wet concrete, | |
Touching both sides of your brain when I flex on beats, | |
And when we sound the drums, I' ll see cowards hung, | |
When my hour comes I' d rather catch a beat down than run, | |
It' s just that honest, I don' t rap for these monsters, | |
Id rather face the music than turn my back on you. |