Текст песни: 13 MC's And 3 DJ's + перевод

This goes out to those who question my skills

I’m gonna snatch your mic like I used to snatch tills

I get you open quicker than a fuckin' dent puller

«Can't rhyme, can’t flow», what’s your name? Scott Muller

My raps will fuck you up and leave you in a daze

Like Macy Gray, «I'm the latest craze»

Plus my style is ill like the taste of fat lace

«It's everlasting Fat Face»

For those unfamiliar I’m known as the Flee

More renown for my gankin' than a dope MC

The situation’s gonna change when I flex with a forty

And fuck the shit up for this hardcore majority

Of B-Boys and B-Girls, I’m a lord

I’ma burn your tires like Holden does Ford

I’ve got more support than my mate Kevin Sheedy

I’ll spray your arse with my lyrical graffiti

Everybody make room, 'cause I’m the fattest here

Oi, Debris, are you sure that, um, Fat Face can’t hear?

During sex I listen to this beat to cum quicker

I can do the Macy Gray too, «Yo, I kick a

Rhyme and I choke

Try to rep a style and I stumble

And though I try to hide it, it’s clear

My mind stopped working, I drank too much beer»

«D motherfucker, d motherfucker» «Debris»

«Hot damn, I rip the rhythm up»

«D motherfucker, d motherfucker» «Debris»

«Debris»

«D motherfucker, d motherfucker» «Debris»

«Damn, I rip the rhythm up»

«D motherfucker, d motherfucker»

«Debris»

Progress is imminent, my process, different

Relevance to elements, presence in sentence

Elevate intercourse, superior exterior

Penetrate and separate the planet you inhabit

Kolaps, exhale lyrics like a fire-breather

Butcherin' MCs like a psycho with a meat cleaver

The information about the congregation, here’s the confirmation

Cross Bred Kings for world domination

It’s the Culture Of Kings, collaborated talents

Australia’s core for the underground balance

All swift in the style of lyrical amazement

Proficient productions in any arrangement

Serving severe extreme tracks, it’s vital

The MCs and DJs who represent the title

All Australian, all artistically skilled

Astonishing product produced and revealed

I’m representing After Hours, Certified Wise

A culture of kings, we won’t observe your guidelines

Abide by our rhymes, speak the signs of the time

Read the liners, we design the kind of styles to blow your mind

outside explode your show like C4

And Cross-Bred have got heads going like a seesaw

Don’t need more MCs to reinforce preconceived thoughts

Need to keep it real before you see more like Timor

Tell me the feeling that you get

When my words shatter your thoughts

to guard my metaphors from the MCs with a lesser cause

Than originality, you wanna come and battle me?

I’m such a fucking nice guy, even tell you my whole strategy

I’ll physically put you in a full body cast and

my writing my lyrics all over your fuckin' plaster

Simplex is the name that’ll expose you as a bitch

That’ll explain why your girlfriend is a confused lesbian chick

Raph’s phat like the face as Debris fills up the place

From the tracks in morse code, explode the terror in Adelaide

The phrase catches atoms, now it’s splitting the electrons

Confuse the laws of physics by the movement of the crowd reaction

Their traction to the music’s like an addiction that you’re choosin'

gone to the pub and boozin'

Traumatise you After Hours watchin' Kolaps

suffer under the Pressure from the kings culture

Sometimes I find myself wanting to have sex with tracks

Apply GST to MCs the wrong tax

I want dickheads to have to pay more for their hats

Life’s a bitch and fucking with her gave me an STD

I did research, After Hours found the cure for this disease

cup with a group of SA’s illest MCs

In a monarchical country where the PM is incompetent

southern kings reign supreme on the continent

If you can’t see the truth you must be blind from too much direct sunlight

When Adelaide B-Boys rock, you know it gets done right

Every rhyme I rhyme’s tight to the point where my flow stun mics

And slam harder than bass kicks or when snare drum strikes

Your shit’s so watered down you’re rockin' styles only your mum like

destroy your career in one night

There’s too many fake fuckwits makin' up stories, talking gun hype

But if you wish to challenge my crew then by all means come fight

«If you ain’t rockin' raw, what you rockin' for?»

«Yeah»

«I give you the words, you know, the pasta and the salad bar»

It’s time, I design my strategy to be irritating like an allergy

While my formality accepts stages, steps and lyrical reps

From the original mental, which is beneficial

My technology expands amongst lands like grains of sand

Australian brand forever, never hesitant, this continent

Will rock constant with this practical element

Blockade’s hitting like a hammer with this grammar so I slam a

Certain phrase, set the mic ablaze, call it technical programmer

Now, Pressure came to set the measure as willing as ever

Whether featherweight or heavy, step or put your hands together

For this like, not the next, that couldn’t stress me out

But watch me now, as I cast shadows of doubt

Like a pessimist, dancin' in a lunar eclipse

We took the best of this hip-hop scene and put 'em on riffs

They got suicidal tendencies, I tell 'em slit their wrists

'Cause while their name was on my mind, my name was on their lips

Debris came equipped with the new, not the same old shit

I rock mics and break beats and always aim to hit

Every portion of your mind, many walk a thin line

While we live the culture of kings in our hearts and our minds

I make beats in my sleep that could still make you smile

Give me a loop, I’ll a style, give me an inch, I’ll take a mile

But meanwhile, I stay on my feet, producin' for my peeps

And by the way, you cats owe me for this beat