[Verse 1: Sesta]

Nowadays everybody fucking with Ses'

The only reason 'cause he prob'ly the best, well, nah, I'm fucking witcha

He ain't shit and he ain't rich

The heathen in black that's keen on a drink and you better give it to him

Security saying, "Leave with your mess"

It's funny the shit you do when you're needing to piss ("Piss off, alright?")

I need to leave in a hurry

"I like the track you do about the ladies suck in they tummies (Haow)

Rhymes ain't shit, dig the chorus

Now which Oar is you? Step in the pit for us"

Course, I will (Course, you will!) With a grin (With a grin!)

But the questions, they do me in

Feeling piss poor in the morning

Until the piss pouring again, come on, say it

Feeling piss poor in the morning

Until the piss pouring again, yeah!

[Verse 2: Pressure]

I came in the door, must'a been later than four

That's what you get when you're mates with the Oars

Spent the day in remorse, nature taking its course

And what this world don't gimme, I'ma take it by force

And it's fair to say if I'd never made a cent for

My record play wouldn't feel like every day's a bender

Always said it straight, never set a fake agenda

Not clever, mate, fuckin' with a heavyweight contender (Suckers)

Ain't no use in holdin' the grudges

Be my hype man so I can say I roll with the punches

The only thing that comes free is what you've stolen from others

The air you breathe? Ain't nothing you can hold in your clutches

Till I'm old and on crutches, I'll still kill a mic

If hip-hop's dead then 2Pac's still alive

Pressure's ill, who's gonna inherit the skill?

You don't get it, now you never will, you never were

[Scratches: DJ Reflux]

"Boom, boom, bap, boom, bam"

"Boom, boom, bap, boom, bam"

"Think about it while you're messing up, clown"

"Boom, boom, bap, boom, bam"

"He had no idea" "DJ Reflux"

"[?] nice with his hands"

[Verse 3: Trials]

Yeah, I'm tryna get enough bank to never break fifties

And have big things in front of me, like fake titties

But, [?], you guessed it

Every single cent that I got spent it instead of investing, ha!

'Nough said so, check

We measure success counting the fans that wanna suck Sest

And budget? Fuck it

We never clean like [?] a fiend taking a drug test

Smart sex that I pedal on front brakes

Like Lance Armstrong, but his nuts ain't

And that's below the belt, get it?

I said, "His nuts ain't", and that's 'below the belt', check it

I wanna travel the world, jet to The Netherlands

Run amok, meet some girls bag a Double Dutch

Ha! Who else do it like this

And rap his arse off? Imagine what I'd do with my dick

[Verse 4: Suffa, Trails]

T

You want a Double Dutch? Well, I wanna blow it up (Dude, you know it sucks)

Nobody sharing, we all going Dutch

We the friends that wanna fill the dinner plates ([?])

Eva Mendes, wanna feel the dinner plates

A dinner date with Suff, dumb as dogshit

About as much fun as a lift from Matthew Broderick

(Oh shit) Toxic, convention-type good looks

Hoods put it down like Hons pissing on the good book (Whoops, oh)

Too many cooks with 16s, not enough fans

So big schemes sound like big scams (Ho!)

Big hands! Know what that means—big slap

Big plans! Know what that means—pig sack

(Dig that!) Gift-wrapped and served by a girl

With such a big rack you'd think that they stuffed her bra

By bringing B.I.G. back, so get back, the kid's back

Staring at you recycling like, "Yo, you gonna drink that?"

(Cheah, cheah, cheah, come on)

[Scratches: DJ Debris]

"Boom, boom, bap, boom, bam"

"Think about it while you're messing up, clown"

"Boom, boom, bap—bap—bap

Bap—bap—bap

Boom—boom—boom—boom—boom—boom—

Boom, boom, bap, boom, bam"

"He had no idea" "DJ Debris"

"[?] nice with his hands"

[Verse 5: Hons]

Man, I used to be a Centrelink king

Until I got caught, shit, now I'm pawning my things

Quit the moral talk, man, it's killing my binge

I only got one life to rip my liver to bits

The villainous kid from the south of the city

Brought up right but Hackam turned my mouth kinda gritty, I'm

Hard to swallow like a gobstopper

Shit, I'm a rap star, man, I don't need to be a cockblocker

The pissed idiot, still a gambling man

But I wouldn't dump my cash in a shit syndicate

Stone-cold sleaze Hons, and I just finished

Twenty-five shows and still got a clean johnson

I'm on par with T for a girl in every state

New goal to be like Magic, minus the AIDS

Pouring Jäger down my throat till I'm flat on my arse

At the bar, with the friend screaming, "Sha-na-na"

[Verse 6: Vents]

I'm the fish in the

Proverbial pond, I never wanna get along

With the hammerheads and I ain't happy till my habit fed

Fuck all in the cabinets

Little bit of rice, cigarettes, and the mice keep having sex

Holes in the walls of my brain

Sowing the seeds of discontent, but still praying for rain

[?] my girl put out

Said the pill make her fat, so I pull out

Just in time, paranoid and restless

Unemployed, we praying for death by asbestos

Life sucks and ya die

One more of these and it's prob'ly goodbye, but I'm enjoying the ride

And we saying goodnight, [?]

To the [?] slut see the big bright light, all right

It's the rise of the tyrant, both guns firing

Fucking you raw while I'm smiling, what up?