Don't Flop - Lunar C and Matter vs Eddie P and Frisko lyrics

[Eddie P and Frisko] Alright, yo Matter, homie, you look like a crackhead Moby And Lunar's left earlobe is falling apart slowly And you need to tell your mother not to phone me Cause I swear, last time, that's some dark sh** she told me His Mum's left nip looks like a cleft lip And his cider-swigging Dad looks like Rab C Nesbitt's been Dragged through a cesspit And force-fed infected Nesquik until his head went septic Your Mum can keep getting her bud on tick Keep getting in more debt, but eventually I'll bend her over And f** her up t'bum with t'courgette And I don't know who you think you're murking I'll prise your Mum's p**y open with a gherkin And push it in ‘til it's really f**in' hurting Stand back, chuck gla** and dirt in And I'll come over and squirt a bit of turps in And on the subject of your Mum, will you take control? I'm not surprised she's scraping dole She gave me bucks for a bacon roll and got left with t'gaping hole [?] Matter, you've got weak genetics Everyone in your family is either going bald, going blind, or a straight-up diabetic That have lost their lower limbs and walk around on prosthetics Either eat fruit, eat veg, hit t'gym, or get healthier Cause right about now brother, he's looking like Tom Hanks In the final scenes of The Streets of Philadelphia You look like something out of Trainspotting that's gone rotten And then s**ed the fart out of the bottom of Dot Cotton Yo Matter, my styles are doing considerably sharper, mate And I'm finding your monotone style really hard to rate It's making me wanna drag your face down through a lava lake And laugh when your face starts melting apart at an alarming rate And Lunar, it deserves a mention You've got good lyrics, flows and projection But you've got a bit of a LITHP, INNIT And that's like your Mum's fanny, CRITHP, INNIT And then I cheese-grated her flaps, served her over baps And eat ‘em and relax, you're gettin' beaten and slapped ‘bout [Lunar C and Matter] Alright yo, yo, yo Gimme the drop to the grimy ba** Big up to the ravers inside the place Hold on, what the f** is this, 1998?! Cause D'n'B hype been dead for years So make noise for what comes next Right now, we're ending this drum and ba** f*ggot's dreams... Dubstep! You got a big ol' chin and a bulbous nose that looks like a limp dick With that hair colour and complexion you look like a lit spliff Why the f** do gingers smell like piss and biscuits?! And stop saying you're a badman, you know you aren't Them petty bars will not suffice! The best flip you ever had was... “I know you are, you said you are, but what am I?” You clueless, stupid, useless ba*tard Loving getting goosed in cabbage There's no way you can manage One day without watching Human Traffic And saying sh** like “Yo, it's like they took our lives And put it in front of movie cameras” And you could handle the d** in your heyday But you look f**ed now, Frisko All that spunk and ecstasy has given you Comedown Syndrome And you talk about d** a lot But this is where the fun'll stop Cause I'm not talking pills when I say You two are getting double-dropped Yo, Bowski! Bowski! When you battled this f*g And he was like “Giggity-goo, for a piggity-poo” I thought he were taking the piss outta you Till I went on YouTube, and checked out his tracks And they sounded like “Dibbedy-dibbedy two!” You tell little girls that your hair colour is Moulin Rouge And who are you? Do you just come out the Woodwork when there's a two-on-two? You're only out the house when you need a Fresh tube of lube or a new spoon to use And the rest of your time is spent cotching in the dark Concocting sh**ty bars, cause Frisko keeps you Locked up in the yard, and once a week For a lovely treat, he takes you on a Shopping trip to Spar for a copy of The Star