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lyrics
Ben Black:
It’s Mr. Benjamin Black, I've been sending 'em back,
To the drawing board, furiously pencilling raps
Since back when your mother used to spank your jacksie,
Had a chip on my shoulder like Hank Chinaski
So I'm liable to lose it if you look at me the wrong way.
Watch yourself, hombre, I've had a long day.
That's like shitting in the garden of God,
Screw-faced like you bit into a cardamom pod,
And I'd rather you nod, to the sound of the drum,
Look at this pint-sized pussy, I could down him in one.
So get Low like the town that I'm from and don't pick a fight,
Chief, get your thinking right, beats by the gigabyte.
Pick one, hit 'em with a winning word trick
Flip bitches on they're head like (Spinning Bird Kick).
Any pricks in it for the quick fix,
Get force-fed cement mix 'til they shit bricks,
So why risk it? Life's like a picnic,
So I take the biscuit, best rapper coming out of Britain since Slick Rick?
Nah but I'm better than you,
So give the credit where the credit is due.
And give it up for Ben Black, the best fella we know,
With a sparkling flow like S.Pellegrino, yo.
Attacking swifter than a pack of ninjas,
The metaphor Skeletor, I turn Battlecat's back to Cringers.
Gimme a mic and a crate of Corona,
And I'll give you something heavier than Kerry Katona.
I'm reaching my peak while the rest of 'em guess,
How the beast from the east is the best in the west, like that.
And it's still live from the east coast,
The Beanz on the butter on your breakfast toast.
Live from the east coast,
The Beanz on the butter on your breakfast toast.
credits
from Prolusion Plus,
released May 3, 2010
Tom Caruana (the beat); Ben Black (the rhymes)