[Verse 1: Sesta]

I wrote this wackness about a rapture

But you'll never catch me rappin' about the biblical couches, but

Here's a revelation for your patience

Catch me lover [?] and they'll be like "fuck gradin'"

Nah, I'm about to hit Mitus status

I still blew the pieces in the presence of my absence

It's simple Sesta and I say that I'll be knowin' that

We stand out like [?] stickers in a packet of clothes

My lyrics are never comin' with riddles

Or spiritual dribble, it's Funkoars, keepin' it simple

And, as for politics, well, fucks are given

Like trucks are driven as any [?]

To an MC who place an order

Name a girl who gives mad head well: Sketchy Hons' daughter

Ain't droppin' half a bar when I leave you mortified

'Cause your raps are so wack that you get tangled in the corners, like

[Verse 2: Trials]

I got this habit of wreckin' rappers

Takin' 'em off tracks with the force of their L carriages

Twist 'em up, you might get flipped up

And fuck suicide, you're better off tryna diss us

You spit a ring to Trials though

That's like walkin' a tightrope over thin ice bro

High beams and you get stunned quick

We make shit look easy like scorin' on drunk chicks

These jumped kids gettin' severed and split

When the funk spits only speakers up will try and bump this

No joke, I provoke the dope

For even thinkin' about tryna test my flow

This fat fella cooked the flex on a rapper

Modern day sick cunt, you ain't shit

When I rip up, crews seem to be no use

Like dyslexic bulimics eating alphabet soup

[Turntablism: DJ Reflux]

"Soft–rappers" "Get lost"

"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"

"Soft–rappers–rappers"

"This might be difficult for you to fathom"

"Soft–rappers" "Amateurs"

"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"

"Soft–rappers–rappers"

"Step off my profession"

[Verse 3: Sesta]

You're just an ordinary whizz kid snorting Wizz-Fizz

Droppin' more names than abortion clinics did

Of this planet when his parents couldn't have him

I'll play games like Saturn [?] bodies till they spasm

With these chemical weapons that I'm developin'

'Oars fuckin' up a generation just like metal did

Two thousand and three, plus it's watered down

The dam is open and now they're floodin' the town

With this dry humour, I'm soakin' up these maggots

Treatin' us like crack habits like they gotta have it

You think your style is new? Ruthless?

That shit's like sex with a Bimbo–fucking stupid

Ignore the warnings and attack the Funkoars

We close to [?] rap sections in record stores

With beats so phat the CD needs lipo

You write those lyrics to fit with tight flows

[Verse 4: Trials]

Gonna get precise on the mic like counterfeiters

I'm bound to split chicken shits with astoundin' writtens

Four bars in, ahead of my time

Till I [?] openin' line's a quotable rhyme

Takin' back what you said like Indian givers

My style's off limits like feelin' up strippers

And if so, I'll flip a flow like gymnasts

Without a kid or gift for physical fitness

You see? I flow doper than most

"I'm scared of one rapper whose foe's name is no man"

You toys are wack and that's the plain truth

Fuck sharin' a track, I wouldn't share the same booth

Feel alive and you think that you can rip me

Before you touch the mic kid, put down your mother's titties

Simply, can't touch the verse

And fuck steppin' to a battle faggot, fix your skirt

[Turntablism: DJ Reflux]

"Soft–rappers" "Get lost"

"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"

"Soft–rappers–rappers"

"This might be difficult for you to fathom"

"Soft–rappers" "Amateurs"

"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"

"Soft–rappers–rappers"

"Step off my profession"

"Amateurs"

"Step off my profession–step off

Step off–step off my profession"

[Outro: Sample]

You better get [?] I'm tellin' you that's a lot of money

You can make a lot of money