One - Jam Baxter, DJ Sugai

Separate jams from your second rate fam

When the renegade strands are forever laid crammed (where?)

In the polythene pockets of a cellophane land

Where the peasants stay prang (then what?), redefine your enemy (yeah)

Stay hard headed like a Easter island effigy

Staring out to sea beside a steaming pile of weaponry

(weaponry)

I feed the flies with a heap of primal energy

You’re paedophiles essentially.

(erugh) obsessed with these fucking minors

(what?)

Drenched in a ton of dryness (what?), it’s fucking priceless (yeah)

See I’ve never been a fame thirsty son of Midas (never)

Just one of them straight dirty butters rhymers

I tunnel skywards, the airs thick with their shit (yeah)

And it ain’t even fair when my brehs spit

So blare this, (yeah) from any speaker that can stand the pain

Naive sets the track alight and I just fan the flames

(Yeah, yeah. flame fanner Jay Backer)

Listen.

yeah, yeah.

See I’ve learnt from my family that sanities a fickle trickster (yep)

So never bank on the galaxy to shrink to fit 'ya

Take a snapshot of apathy and print the picture

Pin it to this damp soggy tapestry of brick and timber

This bitter world can sit and swirl on my middle finger

(yeah) like a spinning pearl in the grip of winter

Mister, mister, why’d you spit like

A single drip of British piss clinging to a withered sphincter?

Excuse the image.

I spat it in the name of truth (yeah)

Brutal lyrics, hacking at your tapered roots

I play the sabre tooth stranger in a lake of juice

Raise the roof, got the place shaking like a traitors boots

I’ve been making moves since we used to run with underlie

Daktis the smackfish the gruesome one that loved to write

Up at night perfecting the devils craft (yeah)

Penning bars getting higher than my levels are

Yeah.

I wonder what them dry brehs been doing lately

They disappeared, like the nightmares that used to plague me (yep)

I heard all your newest music an it’s super samey (standard)

So I threw it in a juicer with a human baby

And you thought you were crazy?

mans sick at rhyming (yeah)

Yeah brag, brag, brag ad infinitum

I span this horizon, handpicked to ripen

And now I’m sitting by this riverside missing Brighton

I bring a titan (what'd you call him?) made of scrap metal

His scatty hands wrestle facts from collapsed rebels

Cramped in a damp vessel, and when the sands settled

Dash 'em back, chat your fraff, you ain’t that special

(yeah) yeah but neither am I

Just weaving the spines of evil into creachers that fly

The fleet of the blind, feasting on a dream and a dry crumb

Yeah.

I’m out, one