Boxbeaters

[Verse 1: Sesta]
I wrote this wackness about a rapture
But you'll never catch me rappin' about the biblical couches, but
Here's a revelation for your patience
Catch me lover [?] and they'll be like "fuck gradin'"
Nah, I'm about to hit Mitus status
I still blew the pieces in the presence of my absence
It's simple Sesta and I say that I'll be knowin' that
We stand out like [?] stickers in a packet of clothes
My lyrics are never comin' with riddles
Or spiritual dribble, it's Funkoars, keepin' it simple
And, as for politics, well, fucks are given
Like trucks are driven as any [?]
To an MC who place an order
Name a girl who gives mad head well: Sketchy Hons' daughter
Ain't droppin' half a bar when I leave you mortified
'Cause your raps are so wack that you get tangled in the corners, like

[Verse 2: Trials]
I got this habit of wreckin' rappers
Takin' 'em off tracks with the force of their L carriages
Twist 'em up, you might get flipped up
And fuck suicide, you're better off tryna diss us
You spit a ring to Trials though
That's like walkin' a tightrope over thin ice bro
High beams and you get stunned quick
We make shit look easy like scorin' on drunk chicks
These jumped kids gettin' severed and split
When the funk spits only speakers up will try and bump this
No joke, I provoke the dope
For even thinkin' about tryna test my flow
This fat fella cooked the flex on a rapper
Modern day sick cunt, you ain't shit
When I rip up, crews seem to be no use
Like dyslexic bulimics eating alphabet soup

[Turntablism: DJ Reflux]
"Soft–rappers" "Get lost"
"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"
"Soft–rappers–rappers"
"This might be difficult for you to fathom"
"Soft–rappers" "Amateurs"
"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"
"Soft–rappers–rappers"
"Step off my profession"

[Verse 3: Sesta]
You're just an ordinary whizz kid snorting Wizz-Fizz
Droppin' more names than abortion clinics did
Of this planet when his parents couldn't have him
I'll play games like Saturn [?] bodies till they spasm
With these chemical weapons that I'm developin'
'Oars fuckin' up a generation just like metal did
Two thousand and three, plus it's watered down
The dam is open and now they're floodin' the town
With this dry humour, I'm soakin' up these maggots
Treatin' us like crack habits like they gotta have it
You think your style is new? Ruthless?
That shit's like sex with a Bimbo–fucking stupid
Ignore the warnings and attack the Funkoars
We close to [?] rap sections in record stores
With beats so phat the CD needs lipo
You write those lyrics to fit with tight flows

[Verse 4: Trials]
Gonna get precise on the mic like counterfeiters
I'm bound to split chicken shits with astoundin' writtens
Four bars in, ahead of my time
Till I [?] openin' line's a quotable rhyme
Takin' back what you said like Indian givers
My style's off limits like feelin' up strippers
And if so, I'll flip a flow like gymnasts
Without a kid or gift for physical fitness
You see? I flow doper than most
"I'm scared of one rapper whose foe's name is no man"
You toys are wack and that's the plain truth
Fuck sharin' a track, I wouldn't share the same booth
Feel alive and you think that you can rip me
Before you touch the mic kid, put down your mother's titties
Simply, can't touch the verse
And fuck steppin' to a battle faggot, fix your skirt

[Turntablism: DJ Reflux]
"Soft–rappers" "Get lost"
"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"
"Soft–rappers–rappers"
"This might be difficult for you to fathom"
"Soft–rappers" "Amateurs"
"Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego"
"Soft–rappers–rappers"
"Step off my profession"
"Amateurs"
"Step off my profession–step off
Step off–step off my profession"

[Outro: Sample]
You better get [?] I'm tellin' you that's a lot of money
You can make a lot of money