Im, sick with the rhyming shit, I, Give you the finest shit , ya
Thinking that ima quit, na, Aint even started yet, uh
Yeh, so don’t go testing me
Because I got the recipe to make you rest in peace
This is sumin you aint never heard before
I murder verbs and words and letters and let them all settle up in your thoughts
And force my rhymes to warp ya mind and im so dope of that im sure
In fact im raw, your whack and poor, so much in fact you make me snore,
I rap circles round most of you pricks
Mostly im sick, im slick talk mixed with a grocery list of skill, shit
And I be over ya heads,
Floating like ses smoke, gloating while you notice im blessed, yes
Most of your shit, ah, I don’t feel it,
Cause you can’t get with it when I get get wicked
The sickest, couldn’t give a fuck how you feel
Yeh Ima ma’fucka, now go tell your mum she’s a milf, uh
I got a good flow and I spit it well,
But you’re about as much use as a frigid girl,
No action, im real, no acting,
And when ever I rap it’s it straight brrrap ting,
What’s happening like, bust and meth,
Trust if left with your girl then I’ll touch her breast,
And ill, thrust her best while ill take her breath,
You’ll come back n catch us in a rush to dress,
Ill have your girl yelping like she a pooch
Like it’s over the park fingering back in the day while sipping on hooch
Fuck it, I got nothing to lose,
Fucking a rhythm right up when im spitting whilst shitting on top of your tunes,
Got the game on LOCK no open sesame
Make u blow your TOP like you’re a chimney
That’s why Ive GOT your girl feeling me
And you think you’re hot? Stop, your killing me
Lyrical warfare uh, you aint prepared no
U better, load up your bars and ready your flow
Steady, and go, im ever ready to be beheading a ho,
Steadily getting head feeling heavy while I be getting blowed,
I rap crack, huh, you been whack
Ever since fat joe done told you to lean back
Leeeeeaaaaan back, and watch me kill it,
Remember the name Ish when you be discussing the illest
Shit is, getting ridiculous feeling like im the sickestist
Lyricist in the business pissing upon your pic-a-nics
You pick a mix rappers are cinnamon mixed with liquorice
Looking sweeter than tulisa splitting a Twix with little mix,
But I aint caning her no,
Ive seen the video, and shit id let her give me blow
Get her below my trouser level let her play with it all
God loves a tryer, so ima give her my x factor and go,
Yeh then ill leave her there all gooey
While I old school duck out, huey doowy n looie
Oooo you do something to me, that booty mixed with that boobie
Got me truly loop the loop jumping hoops in the hope you’ll choose me!
Hi tulisa, how you doing hun?
My tulisa, can I be screwing ya?
Why tulisa, cant we be doing that?
Bye tulisa I hope you tweet me back,
Back to the fact that I be killing these raps
Giving these tracks a fucking kicking till im sitting with sacks,
Filled with money yeh I want hella cash
Till im sitting comfortably counting money on my helipad
You can tell im bad by the way that my jeans sag
Me and my boys are lupine, we roll in a pack,
We on cash like we be fucking gang banging,
Ill take your money and your life, for a 5 ill leave you hanging
You can count on me like an abacus have hazardous
Tactical strategy’s to delete all of these rap characters
Savage with syllables giving em all when I attack
When Im finished razing your raps ill be raising my flag, shit
Im excellent your excrement
You see them stars in the sky well im next to then
Getting recognised across the water
You can stop the press, im the best Romford recorder
