Count Eleven Chonny Jash

Say what you aren’t
Sell what I see
Pray tell, what you wanna be when the beat gets awful frisky?
Lawful Risky
Hit ‘em with the freak shit, makeshift, breakbeat, straight heat
Afraid he’ll come undone on the runaround
Readied back at Frame One
No cooldown
Smack that fool down
If a true combo hits then mate, you’d pray you stayed down
Quarter-circle-back attack on a track mid-match
Never buy a beat that you know that you can make by scratch

Do me a favour, won’t ya?
Put a little semiquaver culture in this structure
Vampire vultures stalk in the dread of the night
Dead to rights are The Knights of the 4/4 Court of Scorewrights
It’s heaven for those who can send it
Ascendant
A triplet groove for this mathematics lesson
School is in session
A million miles an hour for the fuckwit, dipshit, white kid
Give it to me straight, can you count to eleven, mate?
Shit

Once I wanted
To be someone else;
Threap the bonds that
Forced me from my shell
Fi! Vivacious
Sics thine own sick spell
Seven sins sit
Still, sum yet withheld