every time i speak it’s like it’s leakin’ out me lyrically.

spittin’ hits in their entirety, pissed at this anxiety,

i’m sick of this societys 5hit, an’ sittin quietly.

while life is passin’ by me, blimey,

i’m blinded by the irony an’ when i fukkn die i’ll sigh relief an’ be like “finally”.

is this a cry for help? hell no well it ain’t try’na be.

man if you thinkin’ this is bad try’n read inside ma diary.

stuff in there i’ll say will cause you all to stare all day,

cos i’m a horses hair away from turnin’ lawless tearaway,

from troubled youth to drug abuse, i’m just not fussed to care ok.

is there a way of stoppin it or not should i just cop a fix?

cos dealin’ with these proper dikks just makes me feel like droppin six.

not fit to be the bosses bitch, i get a job an’ flinch.

an’ when he tells us all to jump, i’ll fukkln drop an inch.