Dont Stop

(альбом: Left Foot, Right Foot - 2001)

I make girls say "Rock me," b-boys say "Not me"
I give props to any MC that try to stop me
I look at 'em, throw my rhyme book at 'em, see which rap he feel
And make him hate himself like bulimics eating Happy Meals
I'll sap your skills like sex saps your endurance
Fuck hip-hop [?] still Hoods are passing judgement like we're jurors
Who is? Me and Fats, 'cause we hate clones
I'm gonna take your living skin like DJ Bonez
Mum, this kid is the one to make you clap like chlamydia
Props to true friends: Baz, Flak, and Olivia
Consider the certified the kings of the city, the
Wise rock live from here to Bolivia
Italy to Sicily, Tripoli to Gallipoli
I'm flipping the mic, ain't nobody ripping me
So clap your hands to the beatbox
This rapper's standing in his Reeboks
Yo, we rock cities like Grateful Dead rocking old folks
Yeah, come sweat me on the reg like I was trapped and I sold dope
[?] now either or, we the raw
Open your eyes, I'll show you things you never seen before
When we on tour we live on cigarettes and good banter
My mates live on junk food and marijuana
My armour's my b-boy battle gear, yeah, we here
B-boys flock to me like I was free weed and free beer

"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"

And, if you don't stop, then the Hoods won't stop
And the Hoods won't stop if the loop don't stop
And, if you don't stop, then the Hoods won't stop
And the Hoods won't stop if the beat don't stop

Here we go. It's the almighty Pressure MC in the house. Alright, bring it to 'em. Take 'em to school. Don't stop

Ain't it funny how the world seems to run on a profit
That's why rappers check for me like their wallets, I'm deeper than a klepto's pockets
So when rock it, you don't wanna battle, boy, get off it
FM stations got no plugs for me, I simply pull 'em out your sockets
Debris, drop it, this beat is hella
Now we the fellas dropping the third [?]
I believe I never seen my better
Still MCs try and push me around, 'cause I'm the only peer [?]
MCs are never [?] change out my style
Like ugly women swap the dice if that's what she like
[?] these long days make for longer nights
While I come correct, you're still confused about wrong and right
I'm on a tight schedule to murder a face
'Cause I hate 'em like people up in my personal space
Not even thermals will make your shit hot, rehearsal's a waste
You ain't got it, you ain't got it, it ain't personal, mate
I'm kinda happy being me, you ain't happy with yourself
Fuck, there's Markey in a nappy tryna take samples for free
Now even crack fiends agree we got the rock that you feel, I
Bring the bass to your dome [?] serving crack dealers
I'm tiring of old, uninspiring and sold-outs
Designed for the mould, so keep your lips sealed, silence is gold
[?] I walk the hills amongst giants of old
Revoke your license to ill while your album [?] sold

"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"
"Don't stop" "Do-don't stop"

And, if you don't stop, then the Hoods won't stop
And the Hoods won't stop if the loop don't stop
And, if you don't stop, then the Hoods won't stop
And the Hoods won't stop if the beat don't stop