Rapping Over Silence - Dirty Dike, Dabbla

So, you sat and wrote yourself a dirty tune

Pissed off at home, (Why?)

Cos nobody has heard of you

I smirk at dudes from YouTube who only wanna murder crews

I heard your battle rap and it was wack and you rehearsed it too

(Dirty Who?)

Dike, with a mind like it’s senile

At least I’ll clash a rapper in a cipher and it’s freestyle

Meanwhile, I’ll listen to these kids

I’m thinking it’s ridiculous that you can piss a written out and think it’s sick

Listen, prick.

It’s not about 'I'm dropping, it’s hot.'

Using fillers like a dickhead who’s forgotten to stop

It’s Top of the Pops for cocks

I don’t want it to stop

It’s just not fucking hip hop, you honourless knobs

So what have you got?

Another mouth of goo for your man’s face

Plus a couple thousand views on your fan page, (I'm killing it!)

Where’s your album or your talent?

Where’s your tunes, mate?

Too late, it’s you:

The new and improved tube steak

We take part in a passion with hidden purpose

And handle it as part of the pattern

We’re never nervous

Half of it’s the rambling madness of clever hermits

The other half’s embarrassing blaggers that’s penning verses

My mind’s designed like an assembly line for the rhymes

Never slowing production at any time

You could put aside 9 months to write your little pantomimes

It still gets no shine next to mine

They bought a kilo with their alter ego

I’ve got more libido in a swim tuxedo

Watch the way you talk to me, though

Sicker than a paedo in a pair of Speedos

And a J-cloth to wipe the sprays off of my torpedo

Dirty Dike and Dabbla

Got them in the corner shitting like a soldier suffering Post Traumatic Stress

Disorder

Style that blessed the aura while you’re just a cheesy joker

And your battles fall into the category of mediocre

So what’s the deal with all this rapping over silence

Where you banter back and forth about imaginary violence?

You ain’t fucking with these giants

Slice you off a portion of the rawness

Rocking like Romanian orphans

We take part in a passion with hidden purpose

And handle it as part of the pattern

We’re never nervous

Half of it’s the rambling madness of clever hermits

The other half’s embarrassing blaggers that’s penning verses