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public service announcement (freestyle) - lunar c lyrics

[verse 1]
i don’t need to reintroduce myself
my name is lunar, or jake if you know me
i’m not resting till i’m paid, listen closely
this industry doesn’t have what it takes to control me
a newcomer with the brain of an og
i’ll tell a lie while my hand is on the bible
let god throw lightning bolts at me from the sky
for the first time in my life i’m not angry coz there’s finally
p in my back pocket like i sat in a urinal
007 in the hood with no weapons
in some bl–dy clothes tending to my bullet holes prepping
for my next mission, my success is destined to come
you can tell i’m the one coz i’m second to none
fat girl twerked on me, made spoil my shorts
had to pay her to lie with me like my lawyer in court
toyed with the thought of not paying but i found a pound coin on the floor
i bust my nut and then i point to the door
weak rappers tryna get me to collab on mixtapes
but they’re not getting no features like a mannequin’s face
your whole teams fake, you split cash and get on stages
with a bunch of judases like you’re battling drake
another show done, another verse written
graft my -rs- off like a burn victim
pray on my downfall, keep wishing i’ll stop
got the game in the missionary position, i’m on top!
faded like your dad’s tribal tattoo from the 90’s
i remember when i was at school
tryna act cool in my hand-me-down jumper
and my shiny black shoes, now i am that dude
this is a cease and desist put the mic down
ain’t heard a rapper who can f-ck with me in a while now
you’d have more chance of getting rihanna down the aisle
in a white gown or tryna find out who sold smack to amy winehouse
bunch of snakes acting fraudulent fakes
never had the b-lls to be able to back the cause
if you labels want me to take your offers, add some noughts to em
show me some numbers that’d make carol vorderman have an -rg-sm
giving a dog a smear test is the only way you could be a vet
you’re weak on the mic, put it down like a fierce pet
i ain’t down with posers and swag rap
i’ll strangle you with the strap on your louis vuitton handbag
i don’t wear a leather skirt and a jesus piece
i’d rather rock a checkered shirt and jerry curls like easy e
and i don’t care who i’m offending when i speak
the beat got em all nodding their head like they agree with me
i don’t censor sh-t, so what if they’re oversensitive?
what they gonna do if i offend em?
maybe i’ll get -ss-ssinated during a cypher session
and die for my profession like the flight attendants on 9/11

[verse 2]
litterman logo tippagang bozo
d-ck in hand, posing for an instagram photo
sniffed a gram of c0ke, wrote this verse and then i p-ssed out
when they found me this beat was still playing in the background
floor covered in rat corpses and p-ss
sat back taking the last draw of my spliff
my landlord came to my flat talking some sh-t
so i pushed the fat b-tch through a trap door in my fridge
slags that i grew up with talking bout what i’m making
semi-famous, balling in moderation
debauchery on my brain, skrawny and underweight
i’m immortal, we’re not the same, i was born in a toxic waste bin
bubby’s deranged my evil and my conscious side
have gotta find some kind of compromise between wrong and right
asking every girl i see for head like i lost my mind
this ain’t a race but i always feel the need to cross the line
i got this far without following the protocol
i see a lot of fake types acting like they broke the mould
a lot of them are talking about a life that they don’t know at all
they’ll spend their career trying to catch up and won’t evolve
when i ain’t in the booth i’ll be on stage till i get thrown off
or going off the head like i’m getting bored of bl-wj-bs
get off your soap box and practice what you preach
i go out and get my own i don’t tag along and leech
i walk to my corner and give my opponents a rest
spit out my gum shield and see whether my coach is impressed
i’m just mad they keep ducking when i’m throwing my left
coz my punches are going over their head
still winning came out swinging like a g-y couple in an orgy
i’m not tryna be here struggling when i’m 40
i’m grafting, i want money, a big house and a couple cars
tryna get a happy ending like a good m-ssage

- lunar c lyrics

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