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letra de exclusive - damo

[intro]
dj kansel
damo
simplex, words one
mc f-ck everyone, taipan fangs
call me adolf spitler
battlehoggs, volume two, motherf-ckers

[verse]
as soon as i start to rattle off, kansel’s got
every man and his dog mad to cop the battlehoggs’ back catalogue
my new flow will confuse blokes like [?]
wearin’ [?] at the telstra dome with the roof closed
the rap scene’s a bunch o’ f-gs, my personal punchin’ bags
they’re dumb and sad like undergrounds workin’ for onion mag
you know my lyrics are dope, i wasn’t dissin’ you blokes
it was a joke like _ journalistic approach (nerd)
poppin’ off at the mouth with propulsion in my lungs
could run a gatling gun from the holes in my f-ckin’ tongue
who’s the illest in the game, hands down? put your hands up
only thing comin’ off the top of your head’s your dandruff
[?], the page i wrote this on was blood stained
[?], f-ck fame, makin’ [?] love pain
i’m the [?], rap to get you g-y riled
your fake style sound like you ripped the wav file from eight mile
what the f-ck, you white piece? you mcs’ve gone weak
the [?] dvd’s a documentary on me
rip mics so hard, got callouses and ill blisters
only sweet sixteen you ever kicked was your little sister
i will trash a can, freeze and retreat to you [?] mcs
see what happens when you rap around me
scribe moved two-hundred thou’ while i stayed underground
i should dumb it down and punch the crown in the stomach now
i’m h-ll’s disciple with a celtic bible
i’ll make a self-titled twelve inch vinyl sound like church bell recitals
i’ll be trashin’ the wires with my passionate fires
while kansel cuts on the wheels like he’s slashin’ your tyres
i’ll bow down to no one
i’ll get down with yakuza gangs that literally get distributed by shogun
you’re runnin’ home early, think of why i’m so dirty
only dingo at the logies, you dogs won’t serve me
i read a review that said my flow is monotonous
that’s preposterous, what? you want me to rhyme like i’m optamus?
what? you want me to spit over dirty sound snare hits
and change my sh-t up like i’m ludacris? “oh yeah, b-tch”
i talk sweats at these airheads
i know blokes that’ll beat these f-gs down with chair legs ‘til their hair’s red and they’re dead
you do aussie rap songs, i do hip-hop music
you bump d-classified files and got p-ssed off to it
take a walk and enter inside the door of a foul mind
my subject matter’s darker than the brown guy from downsyde
hot off the street presses, ring the tabloids in
“kansel makes other djs look like fatboy slim”
how did bringin’ albums out get so easy
i needa get it out of my system [?] bliss n eso cds
i’ll turn you sucker actors to piles a dust and ashes
the only rappers you ever ripped was off your f-ckin’ macca’s
okay, you’re old school, doesn’t mean that you k!ll the track
you rap for years and you’re still whack, what’s the deal with that?
it sounds like you dropped a cd full of filler songs
simplex gave me nineteen beats to k!ll ‘em on
have to rap in a mic booth with a suit that is fireproof
heard your track and your rhymes, dude, dracula wouldn’t bite you
mc f-ck everyone with a wolverine glove on one
hand and a freddie one on the other, try test me, son
you best be runnin’ like [?] from the ato
prank call to your home’s only time you’re played on the radio
don’t wanna get burnt by fire, don’t enter in a cypher
if you had a son, would you let him join the church choir
once i snap your vinyl in half, you’re finished, poof
the records that i break won’t get me into the guinness book
my battles were my launchpad, i build a rocket ship
and took off, now i’m sp-ced out, above you when i’m droppin’ sh-t
my rap’s eerie
you could punch a shark in the nose to make him go to how many blokes test that theory
sorry if i left you sad, it was meant to get you mad
you servin’ me won’t happen like brad strut and pegz collabs
you sound like a spoken word nerd when you flow a verse
i do the _ in a _ shirt
“d-mn, did he just go there? he’s too shady”
i’m so wrong, george bush was like, “f-ck, dude’s crazy”
on the mic, i’m gettin’ wrong [?]
[?] the contents of magic johnson’s condom on them
i make [?] look like high-five
you turn a blind eye like you just called the [?] on his right side
we’re all mates, there’s no reason to not keep it honest
cats’ll cop this off the [?] to this song bein’ on it
if you got beef, settle, i’m the mc devil
your label’s droppin’ your album soon on the release schedule
yeah, he said it, this mc will never be better
my clean edit is iller than your dirtiest beef records
they wanna know about the man behind the verses
do they want a photocopy of the picture of my driver’s permits?
so when the curtain drops and it stops after showtime
be like a _ punchline and don’t rhyme
it’s more than a bunch a dumb c-nts that say i’m raw
they think i’m [?] with the f-cked [?] way i talk
clearer than liquid crystal, you’re minuscule
like every single -rs- pixel with digital television signals
think this slug’s little, i will make your blood drizzle
[?] i’ll leave a thug crippled with [?] missles
“oh no now, he’s reppin’ like a studio gangster will
where he’s still spittin’ like that [?] w-nker”
do you really think that i will come with some gun sh-t
when i talk a four four, some metaphor form a tongue, b-tch?
why don’t you just f-ckin’ look?
you punks are so dumb, my next album comes a hundred pages structure book
oh, did he just go there? you can’t hack it
your flow’s off, my flow’s off the hook, the shark spat it
the rawest lyric head, talkin’ sh-t and spittin’ violent
you bought my sh-t and didn’t like it, i saw your sh-t and didn’t buy it
i’ve got a chainsaw for a mouth instead, clowns
rem, rem, rem, don’t lose your head now
that’s it, b-tch, i’m out now
this was a blatant publicity stunt for d-classified files, out now
[outro]
motherf-ckers, what?
battlehoggs, kansel, damo

- damo

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