Dead Players - Arcade lyrics

[Dabbla] Ghosttown Dead Players UH! You best to bu*ton up your bottom lip Before I rip your arms off and beat you with the soggy bit Teach you how to body sh** You can s** a floppy dick That's if you get up quicker than wifey can fetch the hockey stick I get it so cracking' Scratch a hole up in your neck the size of Canada before you see my flow slackin' Get my smoking jacket I need a stabiliser Draws I got will cause a clog up in your vaporiser So who's the head honcho? That well fed looking f** telling other poor f**s to fetch the bread pronto I'm in a red poncho Getting fully wavey Got you people stepping to you like "I knew he crazy" See the Blue Mercedes? Next to the purple Mini? I'm on the bike next to that circling the city I came to murk the kitty And burn some sticky plants Tripping b**hes over in a titty dance [Jam Baxter] Well I'm the right kind of stupid An the wrong kind of mashed When I'm the right kind of fuming its the wrong time to clash Next man will never last a long night with Bax You had four drinks and a zoot and then conked like a fa** Dark side infants Glorified blisters That grew a few teeth, a tongue And two middle fingers My responsibilities are literally non-existent Get lean up and Jam out, shotting forgotten wisdom Like here, Take it all burning up your paper walls Create a couple craters Give the aliens some space to brawl You ain't gonna par me out Like I ain't gonna take your call Save us all some time and I'm tired Take the fall Crawling the creepers Vine swinger supreme Prune these plants and see stars in the blue steam My crews been casually destroying sh** for time I'm sipping on the Cognac to combat the dry mouth [Chorus] [Dabbla] So if you smell foul play [Jam Baxter] Yeah Chances are you'll get it If you get in our way [Dabbla] Yeah life is a game I play it like an Arcade [Jam Baxter] Yeah celebrate in style twisted at the soiree [Dabbla] Fast way [Jam Baxter] You know w'ah say (repeat but lines alternated the other way) [Jam Baxter] Well its the cup filling mud skipping slug by the regal Slumped in the fungi like some kind of beetle Fling a few chunks of smut fried and diesel Congealed on the beat to sun dry your people Come try my treacle as it trickles from the thermos Still I'm on the murkers Spittin on circuits of Full colour burners and luminous lights blinking Dead headless clowns two at a time twitching All I hear is whinging Ram raiding fantasy Cascading fraff The tracks ain't reality Jamothy and Dabble that's a match made in anarchy Spittin' red raw like mans nasal cavity (Damn Boy) And when I'm not juicing grapefruits I'm ruling grey goose Broke off your escape route The lemonade and grey goose got me acting weird again They wanna talk sh** but I ain't hearing them [Dabbla] Who'd've thought they'd see what my create juices muster up I write my best rhymes when I've just bust a nut What's the best they wanna try and test mine best of luck It was all going fine until I messed it up I stood up Took a little moment to reflect Grabbed the microphone and started rolling round the deck Told 'em you ain't no opponent homie show me some respect Paddy f**ing mash down I pour my own select I rep that British Hip-Hop Though supposedly its dead DPC we rolling how we mouldy up your bread Its like an automatic weapon when I hold it to your head We keep it banging Leave the man all hanging by a thread Instead of acting like you know it all Open both your eyes Cos when you see it coming then you won't be so surprised Sweep aside the images you're holding in your mind But don't be stupid The revolution won't be televised [Chorus]