Nothing in Particular
Popularity ยท Low
Listen
YouTube
0:00 / 0:00
Loading YouTube player...
Lyrics offset
Synced
Lyrics
Face the storm and bring it on!
Flame on!
We burn mics like a toxin
Snipes and hoods are rocking
Docking fist-to-fist
Don't take the risk with the misters
We give eardrums blisters
And twist your diss to shadowboxing
The shorn heads and the locks in
Ignite the night 'cause we be crazy like the foxen
Cultra Ultra-voxing
We smoke the peace pipes
Who try to slap your face with a mocassin
So stop adopting the stush attitude
That's kris like Eubank's
You couldn't even beat us
Not even with two tanks
And we're giving you thanks
You couldn't identify us
Why? Why? Why? (Huh)
Tell them that it's Brotherhood flavour
Why? Why? 'Cause we kick it like this (For real)
Oh my Lordy, it's the quick-fire specialist
Blowing up tracks like I was a biochemist
Watch us smash this, watch us do this
We're going to make our lyrics make you swing to the groove, kid
Abracadabra, when we flex, suckers stagger
We're hitting you so hard we box you into fucking morrow
So watch the horror - flick
And pick up your dic - tionary
And try to diflect the direct commentary
Shit gets scary
I'm silencing the lambs, even the little one with Mary
I'm quite contrary when I burn it cold blooded
A bush flaming, never tame and never been hunted
Incognito pyro-psycho
Two parts semtex vex one with nitro
And yes I might go live like Mingus
Ooh make em aah when I'm cunning with my lingus
Ooh! Ahh! By the Eric Cantona
I'm on ball, I'm on point
With my crew I smoke a joint
'Nuff said, on the head, check the dread
I make like a preachy rapper sermon when your ass is dead
Now watch a stringvest bandit, slam shit
Making more money than a motherfucking Clampett
Torturing your brain, irritating like a migraine
Fuck creating a fight, doing shit just for spite
Call my arse cunt, sodomite, show you right
I come for smite, so keep your butt in the light
I'm born in the gutter
Strictly out for bread and butter
X marks the spot so I dig till I drop
Drop, drop, drop the dead donkey (Ee ore)
We be breaking fake emcees
For example, we trample and pull apart upstarts
Ride 'em like carts
And burn that arse like a fart
Raped (Aah!), pillaged, subsequently buggered
Lock 'em in the cupboard with the bones of Mrs Hubbard
You give me lip, I give you gyp, I never learn
It ain't nothing in particular
Burn baby burn
Face the storm and bring it on!