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organised grime freestyle - dot rotten lyrics

[intro]
motivated, i’m after a mil
i don’t mean a big plate of food for a fat kid
i’ve been out of the game but who’s still established?
yeah, yo
one, two
want me to calm down? i don’t want to
say you got a gun? well i got one too
don’t let me let off the gauge, one, two
if it’s a fight, i’ma hit him
left, right, combination one, two
back him in beef, there’s no one to

[verse]
my grime’s organised no 45
but i’m ready to bang on n-gg-s like a naughty wife
and this is… awkward times you can’t run away or survive and chat sh-t, yeah of course he might
but still i came with this war device to bring your demise
this ether here they call divine
so when the corn be flying he be mortified
i got an og corpse to fry
my k!ller instincts got this b-tch lying like an orchard fire
i dare you and blacks try to attack me again
you’ll both get something sharp in your back like a porcupine
this dumb n-gg- vs. awesome mind
for you, it’s on sight
we can do road, you know in this bars ting i take all your shine
you heard my mad about bars and got mad about bars, vexing your brain cos you never thought of mine
you called up blacks venting with thoughts to ride
came studio and tried rush me then i g checked
you wanted to do this all this time?
you stepped over the border line
i’m bout to k!ll your buzz like i caught a fly
all these lies got these n-gg-s afraid of my ability
i engineered for you, brought the vibe when you was no one
mixed down all the sh-te you was calling grime in the studio, you couldn’t afford it, right?
but i still let man in
you didn’t pay man back a quarter dime so let’s not distort the truth and force a lie
bro i’m pure hearted, but the war’s started
and the fans said “get him!”, i’ve been authorised
we don’t think your music’s sick, it’s all alright
you’re uninspired to me like a shorty rhyme
you’re a dorky guy
you need urgent slaps
how are you the bully of the grime scene that don’t back down but with me you be turning back?
the fans are fiending for this so serve the cats
you awoke a giant, disturb man [?]
i write this late, then my bed firm relax
wiping sleep from my eye, like i’ll murder man
how are you an og? you ain’t earned the ranks
i got the d low in the ends
you ain’t got ygs, you ain’t rated you swerved the gang
i clean the dirty laundry like persil bags
i hit my targets while you been bursting blanks
just know i got p like an arab in the desert tryna block out the sun with a turban – wrapped
he don’t like me, that’s a reoccurring fact
he put his hands on my skin, i can bang on a ting but you know me
bro, i prefer to plan
had to calm my spirits and purge my flat
rip leon ferdinand and me [?] fizz, milli and turbz is fam
paris, you’ve changed a lot
it must be the slurping yac or you physically hurting gyal
how you beating up chicks? you ain’t worthy fam
you’re name’s money but that makes you a worthless man
so paris, don’t be embarr-ssed
the truth can cause a whole heap of damage
you’ve been fighting a woman that’s an idiots habit
the streets are chatting, the whole scene’s erratic
you drink to get waved, i smoke weed to balance
this mind state i’m in i don’t need to pattern
i just, visualise my pen as a pistol
i found my target, hold heat and bang it
blade to your face your gold teeth can have it
remove your spirit, soul, ether, challenge
you wanted to be one of the best but, when i was around you felt like your goals/dreams were shattered
you were hating on man making moves in the ends, scheming with friends – this ain’t no reach i’m grabbing
this ak sounds, throw punches i won’t stay down
you and your co-dees can have it
i don’t want to make calls, my ogs are savage
you got co-signed by the godfather, f-ck wiley
i still roll deep to paris
i’m in war with a respected sideman
i’ma k!ll p and let forensics find man
i’ll batter this b-tch like p when he batters his b-tch this sh-t’s called domestic violence
for eight years i’ve avoided this bullsh-t
four against one, your collective’s trying it
so i address sh-t wiling
calls from your major boys tryna protect it, silence
tryna set up systems to keep this black man low, no, this is not ethnic finance
we can do close range, and crackheads like cocaine so when blades connect with diaphragm
it’ll be because of this reckless right hand
it’s shot after shot i’ve perfected firing
don’t get hype off selective grime fans
i mash works on my ones like i always do
move, you’ll get your head split by man
he ain’t on my level when i stay hard, i don’t wanna rise again like an erected pilot
you got a soft spot for that radio dj but the whole scene’s slept with (shhhhh)
it feels like the whole game’s mocking my presence
i have fans moshing out in their bedrooms
bro, i move landscapes, god’s in my essence
i put two tweets out saying that i’ll take heads off, sat back and watched it develop
they want me to get him
i’m feeding him bar after bar, eat this and i’m promising venom
i’ll poison your soul with this rotten expression
when real gs around, you’re not in attendance
so what’s your life goals? you wanna bust mic and touch white on the side brudda, i know
but you don’t move heavy weight, it’s a light load
you won’t burst cats on the side road, don’t burst straps let your nine go
won’t serve packs, you don’t slice, no, bro turn back to the mic so
i can burn hats, burst man off the tight rope
circus clown
you rushed me, you thought i’d be in more pain but who’s hurting now?
attacks are like cars, i just jump in, i’m swerving round
i did so much for this boy and his crew, they’re avoiding the truth like they got amnesia
but they ain’t serving loud
i see you walking round with your 30 crowd cuh you’ll get put in your place if there’s certies round
i know mad k!llers, bad n-gg-s, strap clickers that’ll smoke a boy and then strap switchers they said calm down and attack vicious so i’m back switching
on some crud sh-t, i ain’t showing no love to you bruv
you’re getting knotted out while in public
time for my justice
after the [?] stamping your mums kid
location set right on your mums crib
i’m in my whip with my spliff driving in sydenham slash forest hill
got nothing but machines and real gs posted around me fam, you don’t want it still
watch him hide like his alter ego, if he’s the star player i coached the free throw
there’s times you ate from shows and let your team starve
f-ck bars, you broke the g code
you get drawn out by gs in the ends and say you ain’t on road
you’re not a gangster
spreading them lies on my name tryna slander my fame, i state it plain, pure propaganda
from now you’re dead in the game, don’t hope to be saved
put a rose on your grave, when i take off heads it’s a clean cut like the top of amber
you think you’ve gone to the stars with the talent, i’ll bring you down to earth, i’m the rocket lander
hang man for the light in the kitchen and last time my ribs split, gothic banter
someone go tell paris williams/p money this – bro, you’re not a banker
i’ll check man and make man withdraw all my statements, don’t try deposit anger
i k!lled this money so now what? i’m bankrupt

- dot rotten lyrics

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