What Goes Up - Foreign Beggars

You’ll get ostracized from the environment

Quicker than picket line crossing firemen

When picking fights with Ben

I feel strength like Heineken

I’m wilder than a hyperactive minor swinging frying pans

When curtains rise and I commence

I’ve got rappers hiding under caps like spermicides in diaphragms

I’m so hype with many eyes attempt to view

Began the night by swigging vials of liquid nitrogen

To see me you’ll have to raise your game a bit

I fucked your mind so much I learned which way’s it’s favourite

Plus when I diss you I’ll make sure you stay ashamed of it

I’ll staple your anus lips and tape you parading it

Think taxes, white face means rap ain’t my taste

You fags are lightweight, like packs of rice cakes

I attack the masses like a savage primate

Causing panic from the damage with my rapid fire rate

What goes up must come down

Gravity won’t save you now

Behold the basic premise of the sound that’s in your ear is

Take you from the zenith right down to the nadir

You see me?

People call me the tangled analyst

The arrogant rap bastard, spitting acid raps at pacifists

Jagged fists, swing, bringing a man to meet his maker and

Hate to stand still I feel to spit the and take a grand

Make a man simmer, listen good

I’m in to win it and then I’m looking to play the field

I’m running a mile while you’re still up in detention

Your lacking direction like a broken bus

Your rhymes are so old you’re leaving the cypher coated in vocal dust

You hopeless fucks need to hold your mouth and beg your pardon

Fuck Bin Laden man I started bombing tracks in kindergarten

So pick a card if you think you’re hard enough

Your arse smells harsher than the nasty buff that called your father’s bluff

Seemingly bored mind torn thoughts conflicting

Art like a sport force rappers spitting quick tings to hold the tongues

I spit with swollen lung capacity

Holding one mic I mold your life like it was plasticine

I dip into raps

Like piss-heads eating chicken kebabs

Or death-wishing junkies sniffing up scag

Open up like a fist in a batch

I was missing in action

Now I’m back to fill in the facts

Ripping up tracks like timesheets

Like when your supervisor finds you sciving

Lighting a pipe when you’re required for driving

High as a kite like a microlite on the skyline

Your pride is denied of a fight and

It was time and I’ve had a skinful

Cos even with my plan

I’m still rapping skilful

Attack on impulse like cats to little

Rats and squirrels

I leave you twats as cripples

Like your backs were brittle and hammers hit you

It now stands official

Local town councillors fear this anarchist’s rule

They know my mayhem is taking it’s toll

I’m not restrained by the planet’s gravitational pull