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portal slayer - the big slayer (the big english disstrack) lyrics
(i would like to begin with a poem in old_fashioned meter)
(be good to us, and we’ll be good to you…)
(moving… moving… this message is moving…)
mr english, you are big old news
portal slayer is the one true muse
drop that beat, accept defeat
everybody knows that now you’re dead meat
i got rhymes for days, see it through the haze
you have nothing, your songs are a maze
i said i challenge you to a duel
i have music videos you hopeless fool
england is the worst country
“i like it” said humpty dumpty
the queen couldn’t make it to 97
i’ve been writing since age 11
unless you love the rain, england causes nothing but pain
now i’m asking, right, where you learned to rap
’cause you’re not very good at it, i’d even say you’re cr_p
oh d_mn! i think i burnt my toast!
’cause that right there was an undefeated roast
pomposity has a name, yes, it’s you
you seem so self_obsessed, and you do not have a clue
i don’t care if you came first
’cause everybody knows you are the worst
how can you even compare to me?
i am superior and everyone can see
sure, you are better than lil bino
but that’s no accomplishment, yeah, that we know
we get it bro, you wear a top hat
it’s all you seem to rap about, you’re not where it’s at
everybody’s saying that the british are weird for a reason
everybody saying that it’s just not right but i really think that i see it
you speak and talk like you’re better than us
but deep down you know you’re anything but tough
you only seem to like crumpets
take a heavy dose of these trumpets
[instrumental]
you lack any imagination
you use lyrical manipulation
my songs are an emanc_p_tion
you really think that you’re smarter than me?
’cause you can never think of any words to beat me
have you heard of me? all the nerds love me
everybody’s calculating surds for me
hours and hours spent on my high art
all these words here to rip you apart
i spent weeks and weeks preparing for this fight
i’d like to see your rap but you’re flying a kite
you slaved for days to make rhymes that rave?
i do not think that’s true, kid i will see you in the grave
i really want to know where you got those beats
’cause those kind of suck, you don’t come from the streets
i was the first celebrity
every single gentleman knows and loves me
and biggie e, you call your songs essays?
well, i don’t call them music, so i say ‘good day’
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