I’ll come and kick down your walls like its Jericho bitch/
Sick of the shit sound of all these unlyrical pricks/
I’m on a pyramid perched, the king of the province/
This thing is a problem and I think that I’ll solve it/
So drink up a solvent, strike a match stick, swallow it/
And spit some hot shit, you ain’t got shit - talentless/
G - oh gee, I think you’ve scored an O.G./
You are of course an O.G. and that’s a gorgeous goatee/
You’ve had me bored since ’03 with all your weak raps/
Get knee capped pussy they should call ya G-Spot/
We can take it to the place where we both grown/
He can shoot me with the guns that he don’t own/
We can take it to the clubs where he won’t go/
Get naked with the sluts that he don’t know/
You’ve got a feeble flow and a chemo dome/
Real life fans count bitch - Bebo’s don’t/
And Acesta son, you’re a waste of cum/
I’m afraid your mum shoulda tasted some/
You don’t belong on a track without a race to run/
And you’re gangsta, probably on stage with guns/
You and G usually in the place with thugs/
Just wastin’ punks while you’re chasin’ funds/
Dumb asses, sunglasses and a case of drugs/
Go and blade your tongues until the razor’s blunt/
There’s lessons to be learnt, here’s a basic one/
So face the front cunt, the race you’re from/
Isn’t what makes skills, and I raped your mum/
Forty seven times in the face for fun/
Bet ya thought a white guy would be afraid to diss you/
I bet you try and turn it to a racial issue/
On tracks I do treat you like slave - I whip you/
And if blacks rap better then your face don’t fit you/
You’re not hard stupid, hope for pop chart music/
Wannabe N-Dubz, if you’ve got bars prove it/
Lot of these fake thugs little pop tart poofters/
We end cunts cuz that’s our movement/
I’m a lot more ruthless than you ever imagined/
G your mum hates your dad cuz he give her a bastard/
You mainly suck huh, I’ll maim and cut ya/
I murder you on tracks like Jamie Bulger/