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b.b.s. - don't look كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1: rare]
rare mc, in a fist full of fuel
he be runnin’ these streets and p-ss on dunny seats
you’re dumb geeks with your hair full of chewie
painted on jeans with a vest and some jewellery
use up pest and you don’t know what you’re doin’
no metro, let go, stop talkin’ about your
weekend habits, claiming you are drug addicts
had my drink intake (oi, it’s seven gary abletts)
give a f-ck d-ck, you’re mister fiction
livin’ off other people’s -rs-s makin’ sure
that everyone is listening to your bullsh-t stories
they’re so f-ckin’ boring, p-ss off bro, you’re annoying
and i might just add this
you emo kids, you give me the sh-ts
you wouldn’t know a hardcore band if it slit your bl–dy wrist
ending up on the floor in a puddle of your own p-ss

[hook: illy]
yeah, don’t look, don’t look now
don’t look now
bbs and we’re runnin’ the town
already at the throne so jokers give up the crown
yeah, don’t look, don’t look now
don’t look now
bbs and we’re hummin’ the sound
‘ll leave a pink-shirt poof six feet underground

[verse 2: j. stark]
yeah, we got jokes but we’re far from a laughin’ stock
of girls hangin’ out and [?] c-ck
i think it’s ’cause the size of it gets in bar [?]
and f-ck [?] pay then i’m namin’ the startin’ cost
two grand a week? nah, one show
in fact, make it every time i say f-ck and c-nt on the microphone
you get vibe alone, i keep typing though
until my raps are so tight the whole entire style is know
and blown up, you f-ggots get shown up
you wanna get stoned, f-ck, your sh-t needs to be sewn shut
believe me mate, i’m in town, cuttin’ the rug
yeah, it’s house but i’m two steppin’, f-ck it, i’m drunk
still listen to funk with cup on mick jagger’s mum
also crunk if someone tells us “let’s hum over the drum”
if i’m in a pub, come up and say h-llo for f-ck’s sake
i’m not hard ’cause i rap, i’d rather be at home and suck face

[verse 3: yorgs]
taste my vapour as your hearts all melt
you fakes are a waste of paper like a cardboard belt
we’re not hard to be felt ’cause our cards have been dealt (we’re artists)
the craft of bbs is how the yard’s been spelt
after dark, it’s h-ll ’cause i got no grace kid
you can tell i date chicks off face’ who taste d-ck
but, yo, i can’t fake this, it’s back to basics
i risk ciggies and p-ss and there goes the pay slips
flows in bas-m-nts, now the garage is the verdict
my barrage of words mince to m-ssaging your muscles [?]
our beer muzzles hurted, the nerds are already nervous
scratchin’ the scene’s surface, part of the f-ckin’ purpose
the words are slurred but it’s the point being told
my joints are still cold since the sun’s been sold
this fund’s got a hold of every c-nt making it old
the whole of bbs, fully breakin’ this mould

[hook: illy]
yeah, don’t look, don’t look now
don’t look now
bbs and we’re runnin’ the town
already at the throne so jokers give up the crown
yeah, don’t look, don’t look now (yeah)
don’t look now
bbs and we’re hummin’ the sound (yeah)
‘ll leave a pink-shirt poof six feet underground (yeah)

[verse 4: illy]
illy got spits like llamas, the sh-t’s bananas
pr-cks can’t even dim the armour
go hard with the eesh, and trust me
it ain’t nothin’ for me to tweak and bin laden the beat
and pardon the cheek and nerve (excuses)
but bbs about spits, p-ss, cigs and birds (yup)
quick whip, big d-cks, lit cigs and herbs (yup)
’cause we like to get ripped (word, word, word)
annihilatin’ nouns and demolishin’ the ‘burbs
what you rappin’ for? better off polishin’ a t-rd
don’t even try son, we’re ready, you’re wack
so suck my python sweaty b-llsack
it’s fun to us, illy rep for the frankston line
bbs, the six-hundred buzz
who are tellin’ y’all “don’t look”
illy and bbs got home-cooked raps as fat as a phone book
what?

[hook: illy]
don’t look, don’t look now
don’t look now
bbs and we’re runnin’ the town
already at the throne so jokers give up the crown
yeah

[outro: j. stark]
that was bbs crew, yeah
we’ve had enough of you apricot shirt wearing motherf-ckers
jesus christ, i’ve had a jug full

- b b s

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