| This ain’t the down it’s a upbeat
|
| Make it complete, so what’s the story?
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| Guaranteed accuracy, enhanced CD
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| Latest technology, darts at Treble 20
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| Huge non recuperable advance, majors be vigilant
|
| I excel in both content and deliverance
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| So let’s put on our classics
|
| And we’ll have a little dance, shall we?
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| No sales pitch, no media hype
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| No hydro, it’s nice and ripe
|
| I speak in communications in BOLD type
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| This ain’t your archetypal street sound
|
| Scan for ultrasounds north, south, east, west
|
| And all 'round and then to the underground
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| As we progress to the checkpoint
|
| I wholeheartedly agree with your viewpoint
|
| But this ain’t your typical Garage joint
|
| I make points which hold significance
|
| That ain’t a bag, it’s a shipment
|
| This ain’t a track, it’s a movement
|
| I got the settlement
|
| My frequencies are transient
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| And resonate your eardrums
|
| I make bangers not anthems
|
| Leave that to the Artful Dodger
|
| The broad shouldered, 51% shareholder
|
| You won’t find us on Alta Vista, cult classic, not bestseller
|
| You’re gonna need more power
|
| Plug in the free phase and the generator
|
| Crank it up to the gigawatts
|
| Critics ready with your potshots, the plot thickens
|
| Put on your mittens for these sub-zero conditions
|
| But remember I’m just spittin'
|
| Remember I’m just spittin'
|
| Once bitten forever smitten
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| Split jewels like eastern riches, junkie fixes
|
| Around here we say birds, not bitches
|
| As London Bridge burns down, Brixton’s burnin' up
|
| Turns out you’re in luck so I know this dodgy fuck in The Duck
|
| So it’s just another show flick
|
| From your local city poet
|
| In case you geezers don’t know it
|
| Lets push things forward
|
| It’s a tall order but we’re taller
|
| Callin' all mawlers, backstreet brawlers
|
| Corner shop crawlers, victories flawless
|
| Love us or hate us but don’t slate us
|
| Don’t conform to formulas
|
| Pop genres and such, Sharp darts, Double Dutch
|
| Parked cars, troubles a much with more Bud
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward
|
| You say that everything sounds the same
|
| Then you go buy them
|
| There’s no excuses my friend
|
| Let’s push things forward |