Verse 1:

The fans are like “where you been at?”
I’ve been in the lab planning classics man relax
Cooking beats and bars to put my name on the map
Like I was doing for years before anyone even gave a crap!
Now every time I rap
It’s a full throttle-banger
Couldn't be my equal even if you was my doppelgänger
Nice guy in life but on the mic I drop-all-manners
Man I’m pissing on these rappers ’til I've emptied out my bladder
All I’m hearing is blabber
Tracks with no-variety
That’s why I wrote-maniacally
’Til I built my notoriety
Still addicted to this game I’ve never known-sobriety
My psychiatry’s
What keeps me safe to roam-society!
Been advancing every tick-of-the-clock
Now I’m bringing the kind of heat that made Icarus-drop
Fuck a door to the industry I’m picking-the-locks
And dashing a grenade inside man I’m sick-of-the-lot...


Hook:
They already know
Killing every beat, rhyme, lyric, every flow
In this for the art, could give a fuck if I blow
‘Cause the sickness inside this mind is only gonna grow
And it’s just gonna keep spreading ’til the day I die
Ain't a damn limit, that I won’t defy
Still fully addicted to my medicine supply
If you think I’m gonna quit now man you must be high...



Verse 2:

I spit like a genius
Magical-as-a-genie-is
Radical-as-Houdini-is
Tragical-and-just-tedious
That’s what your CD-is
Mechanical-as-the-media’s
List of fake rappers talking greeziest
See I’m just a simple rapper with pipe-dreams
Of one day having the opportunity to ignite-streams
Of Gasoline
Over the pussy rappers on my-screen
Hear them scream
And watch them burn as the light-gleams!
I’ve been a mic-fiend
Since back in 01 as a kid with a pad and a pen-in-my-grasp
Addicted to killing the beats and the rhymes, to get an adrenaline-blast
A skill that I’d only go on to refine, always developing-fast
Ignoring the haters and people who said I would never excel-in-my-craft
The nerve-of-the-cunts
Used to chat behind my back, now they’re serving-me-lunch!
Ain't a fucking rapper here that I won’t verbally-crunch
And when I said I was here to the end it was never hyperbole-once…

[Hook]


Verse 3:

This ain’t checkers this is chess
That’s why I stay 20 steps
Ahead of the rest
So while your shitty tunes’ll be here a year at best
I’ll still be remembered eons after I’m gone in the flesh
The skill that I possess
Ain't something I need to validate
Soon as I touch a mic these motherfuckers salivate
If your top 10 rapper list ain’t where you allocate
Me, then that’s a list you need to fucking recalibrate!
I’ll show you what it means to start-from-the-bottom
Coming from the streets of London where it’s dark-and-it’s-rotten
Another broke mum, another fatherless-tot-and
I’ve come a long way now, but I’ve far-from-forgotten
All the memories, the pain-and-the-stress
With music as my only real way-to-express
Never took a rest
Stayed chained-to-the-desk
And I’ll be here still as obsessed
'Til the day I meet the angel-of-death…
[Hook]