Laying Blame

[Verse One - Suffa]

I gave birth to half these styles, you should pay me rhyme support

Like Billy Jean suing Michael Jackson for child support

Rhyme is thought, what is it? Lethal, Damn you'll get hurt

Cos I XL like the tag on my shirt

I'll have these rappers easing back, rhyme with a swagger

Feed your girl aphrodisiacs and hide your viagra

If pain was diabetes, rhyme would be my insulin

I'm taking out the insolent in an instant when

They bring the rhyme I'll battle if you wanna tussle

A single line can turn that fatty matter into muscle

You stagnate, while my rhymes circulate like rumours

Your living proof that god has a sense of humour

I'm butter made from the cream that came from the crop

I'll move the mountain to Mohammed scream my name from the top

And proclaim what I got, boy, so give me headroom

These clubs are full of more toys than spoilt kids bedrooms

When I'm on stage I might lose my breath

Cos I got so much heart that there's no room in my chest

Left for lungs, yes the bests yet

To come, my rhymes like a hand around your neck

Constricting your breathing like snakebites and beestings

I'm all up in these arseholes faces like G-Strings

I searched the world for opposition but I fear the

Only competition I found was in a mirror



[Verse Two - Pressure]

When Pressure steps to the batters plate you salivate, known to captivate

I have to break new barriers like when a chaste nun masturbates

If one more critic asks me what I do, I'll slap them mate

And tell them I'm a rapper as I strap her up in gaffer tape

Loudmouths make me wanna flip

MCs only dream they got a grip, and wake up with their hand on their dick

Honest, if they ride the nuts I tell the get off me

Cos I'm unstable like a cradle bridge, so don't cross me

I'm highly explosive you're a child playing with matches

I break rappers you give hairline fractures

These actors keep it real? You're really wak it's fact

You spit one-liners while I spit the finest chapters

Perhaps it's time to retire the mic

Like the Bulls should have done son, cos no-one wants to be like

That anymore, cos nowadays you're taken on a fantasy tour

Of coke, guns and gold when they're actually poor

Factually flawed, yet entertaining

I guess it how far we're willing to go to satisfy a craving

Make them swallow their tongues like epileptics

Then I'll respect it, I come clean as if my lube was antiseptic

So blow me, you still couldn't rhyme fresh

I'm on a higher level of divineness, so call me your highness

There's only three things that are certain in life

Death, taxes and Hilltop Hoods working the mic