No More Parties In Sydney

No more parties in Sydney, but there's a party going down in Parramatta street

157 corner of Alison the Southside, you can't drop the names of rappers without mine

I stopped doing music to focus on myself, but I realise I'm too, too far from help

The microphone's off the shelf, dust off the pad and pen

Renounce religion, sucker punch your reverend

Put an end to your friends who want to pretend

Or send you false hope like the Pope or Buddha

Smash your computer, throw your phone in the trash

Can't look to the future when you're living in the past

At last, here's a rapper making sense, I'm the future, and I'm living intense

I'm not against you, but if you're against me, you'll feel what it's like to be crushed

By a KE70, storms on the weather G, cut like ketamine and stings like Betadine

Heavy D in your girls V in 3D, can't see me like Johnny Cena (Cena)

Black like Serena or white like Miley, I beat the pussy up and leave the hooker smiling

Styling with ease straight steeze, I blaze beats, you're a tragedy, I'm an A, you're a Bee Gee

I got a feeling your head'll hit the ceiling, if I uppercut you, so fuck you (fuck you)

Yeah, they said listen in school if you wanna get your grades up

But I was up the back, throwing paper planes at fake cunts

Cruisin' with the wrong shoes on, stop what did I do wrong

Here's my uniform, pass bitch, so move on

I'm late for art class and after that I can't last

So you may as well fly the flag at half-mast

This bullshit, school shit's got my patience thinner

I'm heading out to see more like my name was Skinner

A straight sinner when it comes to your sister

The rap blitzer, my flow cuts like a whipper sniper

Viggity, ving-ving-ving, the blade spins, and it pierces your skin

Throw your rhyme book in the bin

Your fucking glue store, flows as cool as gay porn bro

And I'm raw though, talking to weak cunts in Morse code

Don't just hear my beats, turn 'em up, listen to it

Poetry, spittin' fluent, more than a hundred influences

Big L to Bowie, from trem to the fugues

Bud lifts me up and these caps keep me moving