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Dead Players
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Nah
Yeah
Feeling like a lit vat of gasoline
Printed on the centrefold of Live Lavish magazine
I roll to the club clouding black and burning fabric
Same blank expression like I haven't learned your language
I watch him fail at every human interaction
His eyes clutch at every single shimmering distraction
Body like a baddie-built and spluttering contraption
Its piloted by two village idiots in tandem
I left the batchment as a melted action figure of myself
And drank a mixture of exceptional strength
My smart face exudes sweet and delectable stench
Stop bothering you're conceptually spent
Now screaming in the wings now bitching at the back
I spent my whole summer flicking cities off the map
Ping 'em off the walls let society collapse
When the rising heat reveals you build your movement out of wax
I swear to god you pricks can't tell me how to rap
I'm like nah!
Bitch don't tell me how to act
I'm like nah!
You're one step away from a slap
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
So I'm like prick can't tell me how to move
I'm like nah!
Bitch I got nothing to prove
I'm like nah!
You ain't confiscating my booze
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
I'm getting more horny
Swapping war stories
Dick like Gonzo's nose and it talk for me
Make a walk poorly
I like my pork saucy
You play the sport sorely
Plus you'll never short-straw me
Up in the court scrawny
Middle finger raised
Eyes like a tampon
Hit the drink for days
Swaying but I stand strong
Still pissing flames
The whole fam is jambon
Play a different game
Half a dozen man strong
Twenty vodkas deep
Neat dipping in and out of sleep
Can you feel the beat?
Very problematic
Probably lick you in your forehead
Like a rubber bullet just for fucking looking at it
Quick fetch the stethoscope and the nebuliser
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Failed the breathalyser
Shit, I didn't recognise you
This is my story and all of it is real
Take it how you wanna take it
Fuck how you feel!
Prick can't tell me how to move
I'm like nah!
Bitch I got nothing to prove
I'm like nah!
You ain't confiscating my booze
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
I swear to god you pricks can't tell me how to rap
I'm like nah!
Bitch don't tell me how to act
I'm like nah!
You're one step away from a slap
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
Now tell 'em your favourite rapper's here
I wanna see Jam Baxter in an aquasphere
Steamrolling over a couple of thousand odd screaming supporters all willing to launch us out of the stratosphere
I sit gormless
Gripped by a lack of fear
The screams left him with a blue and blood spattered dear
Wrapped to your disfigured replicas of relatives
Shackled to each other like a pack of jewellery fetishists
Rummaging through your delicates
Carving a couple slugs
I'm in a target rich environment
Starving you little mugs
When we was growing up and started going out and clubbing
We weren't taking fucking selfies
We were taking fucking drugs!
I swear to god you pricks can't tell me how to rap
I'm like nah!
Bitch don't tell me how to act
I'm like nah!
You're one step away from a slap
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
So I'm like prick can't tell me how to move
I'm like nah!
Bitch I got nothing to prove
I'm like nah!
You ain't confiscating my booze
I'm like nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!
Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah - yeah nah, yeah, yeah
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