What D'you Expect - Dirty Dike, Mr Key, Jam Baxter

My crew’s mutant

Missing parts

Tumors and a dicky heart

Stop till the ticker starts

Loop it and I spit a bar

Cruising on the wishing star

Dusting with the opiates

Nothing but the dopest

From a crusty little vocalist

Yah, I write couplets with a broken wrist

And spoken with an open bicuspid

And a throat that’s slit, bitch!

Why tussle with a open fist

I gave you everything I had in life

And didn’t hope for shit

Still a chauvinist type of prick

When I spy a chick’s finer bits

Eyes’ll bip wider than vagina lips

Life with six sides

I flip dices to decide and pick

Which type of chick

I should hit with my giant dick

Nah, I’m like a sick bastard, a nihilist

Trying it with a pig mask and a riding whip

Live with a knife I sit chopping my face off

Its waste top straight from a bottle of brainwash

Mate what’ya expect, something different?

Wait till your father and step mother listen to the filth

Pig fat dripping from the grill

But it’s real!

Spitting till I’m stricken from the will, still

Stressed out in a fresh cloud of madness

Precipitate rain made of sadness and anger

Back from the cancer

Dripping with asbestos

Test-tube frog prince

Kiss him and

I rep for the S’s, for the M’s, for the B’s

For the sweat beads peppering my neck for my team

For what’s left of my dreams I’mma fight and die kicking

The quiet type

Looking like the sky at night hit him

I arrive spitting like its Iron Mike swinging

Limelights dimming

Cyanide swigging

So is this the type of world your messiah might live in?

Fuck him, I’m just gonna try die grinning

Something ain’t quite right in my head yet

Clinging to the sides of a life full of excess

Live in a sket’s dress

Live from the sweat fest

Please welcome the mind of a sex pest!

Am I dead yet?

Nah, just a dead vibe

Kinda like a fresh jet of lemon to the left eye

Legs like jelly with a belly full of red wine

Bled dry, looking like a wet pie

Get high!

Skets try messing with my head like headlice

Fuck that!

Pick 'em out, flick 'em at the next guy

Hence I

Stay sniffing at the breadline

Let fly cum spray

Splattered on a red sky

Rabbit in the headlights

Fetus in the crapper

Snackin on my flesh

Like the beetles in my bladder

Wot?

You expect something next?

Expect nothing less than the next grubby mess

I’m still using

Life is a blaggard in a tight spot

Lost with a cracker and a canister of nitrous

Watch as I stagger like your boss on his night off

Why not?

Fuck it if it matters, I’m a right cock

The sky’s what my bladder is the size of

Wine clog sack of what you gather in your white snot

Life stops

I wake covered in a smeggy paste

Smelling like the freshly baked flavour of yesterday

Anyway, I hit the rave in a silly state

Waving a Biggie tape straight in a hippie’s face

Wait, you expect something civil?

The next fucking prick to come and headbutt a chick’ll be me

All please listen to the beat

Mr C, Jammy B, Mr Key and me — SMB

Ed Scissor-T and Ronnie B — CP

Making what you’re rating seem easy

So come and get a lesson at the next show

Tesco mission for some bevvies with a wet nose

Lets go repping like the 70s to Steptoe

Save no pennies, you can bet I feckin spent loads!

Pressure in the headphones, snappin up the mic-stand

Lapping up the slime from the tracks in my rhyme plans

Yep, if you want what’s expected

Come and sing along from the bottom of the cesspit

E: Wasteman!

D: Scissor!

E: What’s poppin' son?

D: I’m just fucking mastering my album innit, finishing everything

E: Oi don’t — don’t master it without me!

D: Well.

this is it, I wanna record this fuckin tune with you on the end of it,

but you’re not fuckin here are you?

E: Well I’ll be.

I’ll be back uh.

D: Nah bruv, I’m finishing it this weekend regardless

E: ok well uh.

D: Ronnie Bosh as well!

He didn’t make it, what the fuck!

It’s like, give me a fiver, I’ll fling you a CD

But, give me the mic, and you’re finished, it’s sweet dreams

Man they tryin it, lying and thinking with PC

I leave chicks crying and stinking of deep heat

So what d’you expect?

Something similar?

CP, SMB

The familiar face

I space the desperate waste is dead

Better lay in it ladies I’ve made my bed

Save the skets for later, the stage is set

Watch Ronnie Bosh profit off of blatant theft

Ancient creps will step on the paper’s edge

But never spend pence when they could be paid in debt

That’s free money

Fact, that scene’s crummy

I’mma preach till these sweet-pea creeps scream mummy for me!

It’s better to be deep than be lucky

Bosh, you’ll never see a weak chief touch me

Stop to settle for a peace?

Please sonny

Well I feast on the green leaves that keep me scummy

Funny, something ain’t quite how it should be

Hooks need sharpening for this crowd of shook freaks

You mistook me for them?

Well then who’s who then?

No I ain’t Dike or Ed

They’re too gruesome

No I ain’t Jams, and I ain’t Luke Nukem

It’s Bosh Comma on lock the screws loosen

E: Oi, I couldn’t make it.

What can I say?

D: aw, wasteman!

E: But I’m back in Cambridge on Wed-nes-day

D: What, and how are you gonna record your verse?

E: I dunno, can’t we figure something out?

Thursday is the… would be perfect

and I dunno, there’s gotta be, there’s definitely got to be somewhere we can

sort out, I’m sure.

Yeah well it’s the 14th on Wednesday

D: Yeah, alright cool we just need to get an acapella and send it to Adrian

E: Standard, alright

D: alright, safe, well I’ll chat to you soon

E: Cool, in a bit