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