War Paint

Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel
You dry fraggal type flannels, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might
do)
It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar
Yo, all you writers tryna line out my shit you better hope that I don’t find
you (hope that I don’t find you)
Cause if it’s graff beef you want fuck a line that I throw bro I’ll just fight
you (yeah I’ll just fight you)
Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel
You dry fraggal type flannel, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might do)
It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar
Yo I’ll split your fucking head with a fresh tin of 94, like what you tryna
line me for?
Plus your head just bust this last tin that I just bought, so now I’m swiping
yours
If you don’t like it cor blimey I ain’t surprised at all
It’s time for war, I’ll wipe the floor with these arty neeks
Moving like they’ve got some knarly steeze, til they get confronted and they
hardly speak
I’ll par their piece with some dusty tags, rushing wack, rusty caps
Cause your clique is weak like my flipping teeth, pack your shit and leave
Dirty Bris Kiddies hit cities while you bitches sleep
I’m gripping these blacks, chromes, golds, pinks and greens
Make it so permanent liquid seep into the twisted streets
Your handstyles like an arthritic cripple hit a reach, fell off the wall
halfway through and ripped his jeans
Listen please I don’t give a flying fish about your little beef
Toys can’t rumble in the jungle with a gritty beast
Yo, all you writers tryna line out my shit you better hope that I don’t find
you (hope that I don’t find you)
Cause if it’s graff beef you want fuck a line that I throw bro I’ll just fight
you (yeah I’ll just fight you)
Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel
You dry fraggal type flannels, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might
do)
It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar
Yo I walk up to the wall like ‘Hi mate, do you write (scratches)?
', well that’s my paint, try mate
Ape shit, shape shift your face with the grey tin of Molotov borrowed off the
same kids that hate us
These house party arty type graff critiques, whack bag of neeks tryna reach
over tags with cheap (?)
I’ll jack your P, I ain’t stopping at
Got plots on the map while you cats all act like bombers for slack
The same prodigys that probably gassed, for your thoughts on a drawing,
on forums ignoring the facts
You possible whacked him up, acting tough
Graffers get a slap and bust lip as all the bags of volcanic took
Fuck if you’re tagging it up, we keep the scene covered
Take your weak bubble letters out, plus your team suckers
Come chuck it with the scene fuckers, street ruckers
We beat buffers and duck when the beast creeps to snuff us
Cut from State Your Name