Ashtray Blues

I get wrecked
Sun-concepts
Break my whole soul down when I mic-check
Easy on the pint of Becks
I want sex
Snap your necks for some live fx
Rush your set
your decks
Lexis boogie banger
Yorkshire street slanger
Butt naked in Brixton
With a sign saying, 'F*ck your manor'
Girls don’t want a boyfriend
They want a wedding planner
I want an easy life, a servant, and a StairMaster
But all I got is a rainy night in Doncaster
A girl with open-toed sandals and a … plaster
I’m a walking disaster
I’m LL Cool J when he put out 'Walking with a Panther'
But I can still hear my heartbeat
metronome to my deep sleep
'I gotcha'
'I gotcha'
Mic control the whole room
Holwing at the moon
And all I do is consume
Emcees, I twist like paper
Bending my pen
Getting horny of the vapour
A f*cking slag like Kat Slater
the bitch and save her sisters for later
I’m playing like a forty year old skater
Getting forty-quid for a full-day's labour
About to blow up like my name was Asaviour
When it comes to girls I’m a total no-brainer
If she’s mental with no tits then I’ll take her
Up at dawn and out like door like
But sh*t's still Bisto
Mix and match my sh*t like a Mark’s & Sparks' polo
Never-ending like the eight in my logo
and going solo
It’s all mine this year
Take your scully off and piss in your ear
Popping prozac with a pint of Everclear
I don’t care, this sh*t's right here
'I gotcha'
'I gotcha'
This sh*t's ill, ashtray blues
This sh*t kills, ashtray blues
Take off your fake chain, take off your shoes
Take off your limbs, boy
And then you’ll make the news
Let’s face it, man
You’ve got nothing to lose
You’ve been in fan clubs
I’ve been in major crews
Shout your name
I’ll shout mine louder!
ibuprofen powder
Weight reps, get
Mr Aqualung
I take the cake but you can’t take a crumb
From
The original
Grand Imperial
Start the day with and cereal
I can’t see these days
Walking the streets in petrol fumes of purple haze
Oh! It’s Mr Blackout Boy
Mking moves with those cats that you used to call toy
And now you’re on my
Claiming Yorkshire’s
But you don’t know where it’s at
I bleed your mind, body and soul just like a cult leader
I liked your girl, man I heard that she’s a breeder
I heard she flicked off when she heard me on the radio receiver
But I decided to leave her
When I saw what was living in her beaver
a fever
The bitch got the bends
Took some photos man and sent 'em to your friends
'I gotcha'
'I gotcha'
'I gotcha'
'Cause I’m a hard rock knocker'