[Verse 1]
I'm a milk bar star - make em' catch on fire
Making rappers bite in to the appetizer
This is hot sh** spitting like a magmagizer
You couldn't stop it with a tranquilliser
Bang your head like a crash-test taxi driver
The French iron chef with an ankle grinder
Marinate your thoughts in plutonium whiskey
With a beat that makes you wanna scream "show me your titties!"
Stoninking city, home of the gritty
Coming together like the moon and sun solar eclipsing
Burn a whole in your pocket like a pokie addiction
Smoking cigarettes and socially drinking
I Know what you're thinking, show me the headlines
Where's the 10 billion in petrolium excise
Red lights flashing like Columbian neck ties
Green lights flashing like a couple of Jedi's
She got a motor like a V8 stoker
Work mc's like a 6 speed DJ's Noah
Cos she's been around the block and don't play for keeps
Who is she - A two inch tape machine (s**er)
She won't call, won't pick the phone up
Got a draw full of toys and vikrum yoga
Ignoring my voice like a sickning odour
Got a, lift my game and quit the dozier
Got a, win her over set my charges
And try act like the s** is irrelivant
She made me go down and test every element
Every dallied depart magnetically talented
I feel like telling her I'm leaving tonight
But committing suicide ain't speakin' my mind
I'ma fight and forgive her, put the chink in her sight
She was a princess back when I was treating her right
Life's a b**h with a score to settle
Twisting my strings like contorted metal
Stepping on my heart like a distortion pedal
She's just a worn medal, war memento
She's been down before the SP12
A lot of hip hop brothers know the prestige sound
Extra gritty with the s**y image
Who is she - The MP60
[Verse 2]
We rise up like the steps of the favela
And jump off the ledge with an umbrella
Setting the bar stellar with a blazing guitarist
The next generation of Australian artists
Straight out the bloody rib cage of a carcas
Public enemy with my face on the target
Take your best shot like Henry Shavonte
Hip Hop's more decedent than 70's rock
A lot of whack a** rappers got a Bentley and yaught
On some pop sh** softer than Beckham and Posh
And the devil made em' do it like Bush and Howard
Strange voices in their head like Woody Allen