Cardio - Dabbla

You have no idea how much I hate all of you right now

Every single one of you

Yeah

Alright, listen up everybody, listen up please

We’ve got a lot of work to do

We don’t have much time

Fuck me it’s cold

So let’s get started, please

Sounds of the DJ Frosty

Chapsville motherbitches

Banging on the doors of insanity

Screaming through the letterbox

«I know you’re fucking in there»

B-B-Banging on the doors of insanity

Screaming through the letterbox

«I know you’re fucking in there»

Banging on the doors of insanity

Screaming through the letterbox

«I know you’re fucking in--»

So whyn’t you come and face me like a man?

Bitch

Dabbla pull the fabric apart to the last stitch

You might just catch a passing remark when I start switching

You little fanny farts will get dashed in a dark ditch

In a spasm of large… fits

Extra sensory

wishes somebody would steal my identity

(Who the fuck are you?)

It’s not the way it’s meant to be

Incidentally, we been blowing up fundamentally

You’ll never compromise my artistic integrity

So you can kindly go fuck yourself and don’t mention me

(Fuck you)

Hope you choke on your own diplomacy

Nah, I’m glad that we’ve spoken about this openly

Holy crackamoly, we stacking the pony

Smoking on that killer

Spill a bit of liquor for my homie

Don Piper, motherfucker

DJ Frosty

Hashtag Chapsville

Chapsville Tennessee

Michigan, Detroit, Illinois, Kansas, Dakota, Iowa

(England)

Illinois

Paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic

Starter pistol at the roof of the mouth about to end it

On a Tuesday

Mix the acid with a dash of desmond

And learnt more than I could ever from a dodgy reverend

When I emerge have the floors swept and the urns out

Took a purge on the doorstep of your bird’s house

(Eurgh)

Don’t ever fucking try and judge me

Without doing a day’s graft in your life, probably

Without finishing one thing that you try properly

And I ain’t even started with making you sick and tired of me

Get used to my bad breath

And count your blessings over what little you have left

And stop mildling over the middle of my verse

And start putting in the work of your status and sad rep

Your peen, last seen flying in the lotus

With a semi and a remi and a pair of white loafers

I don’t know

What I do, is it art?

I don’t know… what it is

I don’t know, I think it’s all crap really

Total bullshit

Seriously, it’s depressing as hell

I don’t know if I’m a genius

I think you know, and I know, what it is that I do

I’m a fucking dancing squirrel

I’m no artist, I’m a chimp

Anyway, anyway

Anyway anyway