Yeah

Rates 1

ABK UF

Time to tell these cunts

Show these cunts what I got

They been waiting

[Verse 1: Rates]

I know I can show my skill

Grow as the moment builds

Leap hurdles and leave crop circles in an open field

I fucking know it's real

Leave the scene just devastated

Them definitely hesitant, don't reckon I'm the next to make it

Destined to put pen to paper and make it ageless

Whether I'm famous or not, amazing with the pages

Just a little mention of Rates, it can make the Devil awake

You tremble it's so terrible even heaven's afraid

Step on ya grave, summon your ghost, bring you back to life

Just to punch you in the face to show you that my raps are tight

Attack in the night

Back when I was packing the pipe

Should've seen me laughing, drinking blood as I'm having a fight

Trapped in my mind

Satisfaction I happened to find

Factory abattoir killing getting cash for crimes

Fuck what the doctor said

Not stopping I'm off my meds

If you cracks don't think you're crazy

Then you cunts are off your head

[Hook: Rates] x2

I'm making my own sound

My own rhythms I own now

My hometown is so proud

I know because my flow is so ferocious I could throw down

No I wouldn't joke around

My lyrics rip ya throat out

Ain't something that ya know about

[Verse 2: Rates]

On stage I can slay rappers as I'm wearing a straight jacket

Wasted after taking 8 tablets from the same packet

You wanted skill, I can kill it and fill it in several ways

Definitely selling a recipe to take your breath away

I reckon the stress is setting levels to get 'em afraid

They're pressing play and they're standing back and they're swept away

I bet these rappers wet their pants whenever they menstruate

I bet it takes a lot of biting, writing every sentence made

My raps insane, I was trapped in a grave

Locked in a coffin, in a box

No oxygen, I was baffled in pain

They had to trap me away

Yep, I had 'em afraid

Rapping attacking lyrics victims that I have to say

I'm a demon like a mean beast that you have to slay

The heroin that's calling your name making you stab your veins

UF, attacking with a style that's just ruthless

A beautiful, brutal musical tune

Tighten the nooses

[Hook] x2

[Verse 3: Rates]

Your bitch is a fiend with the glass pipe lickin' it clean

I'm going off topic, no I'm not you thinkin' she's keen

This music is a dirty bitch

She's about 36

Been around some dirty dicks

Squirting, jerking all the hits

All the other up and comers

Can't compete with tougher brothers

Have you seen us work the crowd?

We're knowing that they fucking love us

Hate the industry I'm in and I'm hating undercover

Rappers full of sluts and faggots, somehow they all fuck each other

And what they spawn is a dawn of an embarrassing day

Rates is going back in a cave and Azza's ashamed

It's more annoying then a lad saying "Just having a paint"

The same little fags you used to harass on the back of the train

And now every little cunt they think that they're bad as

When it comes to throwing a fucking punch they're as sad as

Miraculously knocked out and yeah I'm back wrapped in Glad-Wrap

And ill rip ya wax sketches and lyrics you had in ya backpack

Death, I'm not scared of it

More scared of my debt

But when they're there to collect man I'm taking their hands and their heads

Demanding respect with this style I've created

A doctor of words, Dr. Rates abbreviated

For fuck sake, when will the hate in my brain be alleviated?

Just me, I believe that me and my team we'd be the greatest

Delete the fakers need to leave it at that

Smoke weed 'till I collapse, nah the scene ain't competing with that

[Hook] x2