Dusty.. dusty... dusty..dusty
I goes out at night, in my glad rags
Selling some to posh kids, prozzies and f*gs
I do's a few spoons to get me in the mood
I never do too much cos that makes you rude
Cos that's the trouble when you do too much
You get a big mouth, start to lose touch
You act all hard, gettin' louder and louder
It's no f**in' wonder they call it wacko powder
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty!
My frontal lobes, have f**ing turned black
And when your ??s gone you cant never get it back
Pulls things out my nose that look like bits of flan
So sometimes I wash 'em up and smoke 'em on a can
Started in lines, chronic f**in' times
Got a f**in' blizzard blowing through my mind
This dirty f**in' habit's costin' me a f**in' mint
Blew my cash on the blower now I'm really f**in' skint
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty! dusty! dusty!
She don't like, she don't like, she don't like c**aine
I never saw a woman f**in' complain
Like the pale skinny girl over there, she don't care
She likes to play head games but f**in' beware
She's really f**in' off it, look at her eyes
Give her half a gram and she'll open her thighs
But leave her alone if I was you brother
Cos she's not the kind of girl you can take home to your mother
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty!
I knows you knows, if you knows what I mean
All this majic dusty, the most I've ever seen
I really got to stop, taking this sh**
I really f**in' want to but it's hard to quit
This c**aine scene is full of false f**ers
I'd rather deal with people f**ed up on pukkas
So it's ta-ra posh, I need a f**in' rest
Back to sellin' mary jane and f**in' flat press
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty, dusty, dusty
Yeah, I got 3 grams of Tony Montana
2 grams of Jody Kidd, 4 grams of Kate Moss, and an eccy...
*Like Michael Barrymore back on the jam,...
Four ??? go out with a bang*
Yeah, my mate had c**aine, and he took all of 'em...
My mate took 'em, and there was all white foam
round his mouth like Mumm-Ra from, er, Lion-O