[Verse 1: Mass MC]
I conversate to all emcees with my double jointed tongue
Slapping, fuck ya wack rapping
Taking-a-bite-out-of-ya-mix and best mic just happening
You're lacking in persona
While I throw lyric bombardments to your crew in every corner
I discharge a mad flow that'll stop dogs from barking
Snap your leg bones so you can use disabled parking
Give you unimaginable meanings to the word fucking
Your raps mean nothing, I'll get your grandma to cook me muffins
Move in so I can hide eggs in the neighbour's ceiling
In plastic bags next to the cocaine and Bruce Lee key rings
You emcees are still teething, intriguing
Before the battle pleading, after that your heads are bleeding
Miraculous flows with raggedy clothes, my trademark
Overweight but I'll still move fast, on any beat that's hard
You claiming to be battle emcees with tight flows and integrity?
Blow me, you motherfuckers are far from scaring me
[Verse 2: Pressure]
Pressure MC, get with me, from Adelaide to Sydney
This be dedicated to emcees that struck out but still yelling "Hit me!"
With their gimmicks and imagery, this isn't ability
They barely stand on their own two, I got infinite stability
The difference admittedly is minimally in your favour
The thinnest paper, while I got the flavour to stimulate ya
Senses and integrate the presence in every sentence
So I harness life essence and kept my blessings as lessons
My tolerance overloads, emcees are over-exposed
Can't get over themselves like females can't get over clothes
Hip Hop is overdosed like here we over rose this distortion now
Every arsehole got an opinion but it's mainly shit talking
I break new ground where many fall short of the high land, they tir-an
Missed the point like saying "It's that way" to a blind man
Fucked if I'ma by-stand while my cultures choking fast
My tolerance is wearing thin, man they treading on broken glass
I conversate to all emcees with my double jointed tongue
Slapping, fuck ya wack rapping
Taking-a-bite-out-of-ya-mix and best mic just happening
You're lacking in persona
While I throw lyric bombardments to your crew in every corner
I discharge a mad flow that'll stop dogs from barking
Snap your leg bones so you can use disabled parking
Give you unimaginable meanings to the word fucking
Your raps mean nothing, I'll get your grandma to cook me muffins
Move in so I can hide eggs in the neighbour's ceiling
In plastic bags next to the cocaine and Bruce Lee key rings
You emcees are still teething, intriguing
Before the battle pleading, after that your heads are bleeding
Miraculous flows with raggedy clothes, my trademark
Overweight but I'll still move fast, on any beat that's hard
You claiming to be battle emcees with tight flows and integrity?
Blow me, you motherfuckers are far from scaring me
[Verse 2: Pressure]
Pressure MC, get with me, from Adelaide to Sydney
This be dedicated to emcees that struck out but still yelling "Hit me!"
With their gimmicks and imagery, this isn't ability
They barely stand on their own two, I got infinite stability
The difference admittedly is minimally in your favour
The thinnest paper, while I got the flavour to stimulate ya
Senses and integrate the presence in every sentence
So I harness life essence and kept my blessings as lessons
My tolerance overloads, emcees are over-exposed
Can't get over themselves like females can't get over clothes
Hip Hop is overdosed like here we over rose this distortion now
Every arsehole got an opinion but it's mainly shit talking
I break new ground where many fall short of the high land, they tir-an
Missed the point like saying "It's that way" to a blind man
Fucked if I'ma by-stand while my cultures choking fast
My tolerance is wearing thin, man they treading on broken glass
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