Verse 1:

The fans are like “where you been at?”

I’ve been in the lab planning classics man relax

Cooking beats and bars to put my name on the map

Like I was doing for years before anyone even gave a crap!

Now every time I rap

It’s a full throttle-banger

Couldn't be my equal even if you was my doppelgänger

Nice guy in life but on the mic I drop-all-manners

Man I’m pissing on these rappers ’til I've emptied out my bladder

All I’m hearing is blabber

Tracks with no-variety

That’s why I wrote-maniacally

’Til I built my notoriety

Still addicted to this game I’ve never known-sobriety

My psychiatry’s

What keeps me safe to roam-society!

Been advancing every tick-of-the-clock

Now I’m bringing the kind of heat that made Icarus-drop

Fuck a door to the industry I’m picking-the-locks

And dashing a grenade inside man I’m sick-of-the-lot...

Hook:

They already know

Killing every beat, rhyme, lyric, every flow

In this for the art, could give a fuck if I blow

‘Cause the sickness inside this mind is only gonna grow

And it’s just gonna keep spreading ’til the day I die

Ain't a damn limit, that I won’t defy

Still fully addicted to my medicine supply

If you think I’m gonna quit now man you must be high...

Verse 2:

I spit like a genius

Magical-as-a-genie-is

Radical-as-Houdini-is

Tragical-and-just-tedious

That’s what your CD-is

Mechanical-as-the-media’s

List of fake rappers talking greeziest

See I’m just a simple rapper with pipe-dreams

Of one day having the opportunity to ignite-streams

Of Gasoline

Over the pussy rappers on my-screen

Hear them scream

And watch them burn as the light-gleams!

I’ve been a mic-fiend

Since back in 01 as a kid with a pad and a pen-in-my-grasp

Addicted to killing the beats and the rhymes, to get an adrenaline-blast

A skill that I’d only go on to refine, always developing-fast

Ignoring the haters and people who said I would never excel-in-my-craft

The nerve-of-the-cunts

Used to chat behind my back, now they’re serving-me-lunch!

Ain't a fucking rapper here that I won’t verbally-crunch

And when I said I was here to the end it was never hyperbole-once…

[Hook]

Verse 3:

This ain’t checkers this is chess

That’s why I stay 20 steps

Ahead of the rest

So while your shitty tunes’ll be here a year at best

I’ll still be remembered eons after I’m gone in the flesh

The skill that I possess

Ain't something I need to validate

Soon as I touch a mic these motherfuckers salivate

If your top 10 rapper list ain’t where you allocate

Me, then that’s a list you need to fucking recalibrate!

I’ll show you what it means to start-from-the-bottom

Coming from the streets of London where it’s dark-and-it’s-rotten

Another broke mum, another fatherless-tot-and

I’ve come a long way now, but I’ve far-from-forgotten

All the memories, the pain-and-the-stress

With music as my only real way-to-express

Never took a rest

Stayed chained-to-the-desk

And I’ll be here still as obsessed

'Til the day I meet the angel-of-death…

[Hook]