Self-Isolation Bars

Empty from the top down when I look across town

Living in a compound city is on lockdown

Trying to contain all the sickness inside

But I gotta be letting it out, that's why I'm spitting these rhymes

Had a lot of thoughts in self-isolation

Like could I ever be the next rhyme sensation?

What an ambition, I'm posh and from Britain

But to ponder my vision, here's some tosh that I've written

I'm intergalactic I'm Mister Fantastic my lyrics are magic and quick and erratic

My spit is elastic my liver is plastic I'm so fucking hard that my dick is metallic

I'm whipping a frantic and sinister tactic I'm rippin' the fabric of friggin' semantics

And this is a classic your shit is dramatic I'll bury you dead like the flippin' Jurassic

I'm polite but I still spit a vulgar rap

I'm street, but the street is a cul-de-sac

Posh and gangsta, that is my fashion

I've never smoked crack, but I have smoked salmon

For flipping the lyrical rhythm I've got the rawest appetite

I'm so out of this world I rub my balls on satellites

My words are even sharper than a fat katana sabre

And I'll serve you even faster than a Wagamama's waiter

A man on a mission while I rap with precision

My dick is so big it needs planning permission

A rapid endeavour you're about to crack from the pressure

The way I'm shreddin' shit it's like I shat in a shredder

I'm the sickest lyricist to ever spit and kick a freestyle

I've got all these whack rappers up on my speed dial

I call them up, and I put them to the test

Ring ring - hello? - fuck you I'm the best

They've got no talent, not even a modicum

These rappers are cigarettes, I drag 'em then stomp on 'em

I rap for myself and I rap for my sins

And I rap so sick I'll take you out like the bins

Want to battle me? I'm totally legit

It's one sided from all angles: mobius strip

I'm the one they gotta fear, burning the ionosphere

Rappers will never get rid of me, like gonorrhoea

Shine like palladium when I'm in the stadium

Rhyming gymnasium inside of my cranium

I'm white and middle class but I always pleasure rooms

So fuck you, I got more bars than Wetherspoons

I won't shelf this biz, I'll grow in stealth then blitz

The rap game til it's dead or blow myself to bits

Because every other rapper is a selfish bitch

And I'll make them hot and clammy like a shellfish bisque

I'm a figure skater, you're a shitty faker

You've got lots to prove - like a busy baker

There's never ever been a greater motherfucking innovater

And I'll mash you up like - this patater

I'll turn you to slush with the words that I crush

I'm stacking up bars like I'm working in Lush

Think I'm too posh to rap? Well you're not alone

But I'll scramble your assumption to make you purists moan

Every word I spit is such a grand appetiser

I am more in demand than fucking hand sanitizer

Which is ironic, because I'm the lyricist

With some of the world's filthiest rhymes at my fingertips

Smashing some turbulent facts that are pertinent slashing the wax in a pattern that's permanent

Rappers that murmur get rapidly murdered with dazzling raps that I snatch from the firmament

Timidly slipping I think that you're clicking no matter how wickedly vicious and thrilling

And quick as I'm spitting the trick is admitting you'd still be licking the shit that my dick is emitting

So could I ever be the world's greatest lyricist?

I really am quite good at spitting a sweet bar

I think I might need to sound a little less privileged

I'll work on it - once I've finished this quinoa