A lot of people copped my previous album The Menu and proceeded to tag me on Facebook in pictures of their car dashboard with the CD case propped up suggesting my tunes were going places with them.
This taught me that you motherfuckers like driving and listening to music at the same time. Well now it can smell good while you do that.
Artwork by Dan @ god-awful.com
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They spread the fresh disease, I'm living in the Twenty Teens
And now we're dressing how we wished we could in '93
They jock the style, steal the swag, the kids are blind to see
The pioneers barely even see the finder's fee
And then you've got these rappers wishing it was yesteryear
They say that rap stinks since all the Bigs left us here
But then they spit, we see they've got no skills to be the man
Cunt, try and spit like Big L, you couldn't breathe through that
And you can wanna be Spice 1 until your heart hurts
With all your wannabeing son you're closer to a Spice Girl
Zigga-zig-aah with your rap styles boring
All the promoter's got your number but you ain't getting called in
Sitting in your room alone saying rap's dead
You'd probably tell me the best of all time is Eminem
That's why I don't keep a fuckin' watch on my wrist
Cos I ain't got time for these Cabbage Patch Kids
Who probably don't know what the Cabbage Patch is
"Go Ricki", jump in the lake if you ain't "Slick"
Kid you ain't fuckin' lyrically with Pete
GVC, it's all me, it's my team
Gutter supreme from New York to Spain
The Germans are coming, they fly without a plane
Lyrical airbus I fly into your brain
Worldwide mind-state, they fine until I came
Stand up to take a shit on a Chinese train
Gotta bring your own TP, bulging out the pockets
10 yuan for them beers, but they hot kid
Don't visit washrooms in your Lo sneaks
And don't let your bare skin rest against those sheets
Tienanmen Square, Peking duck feast
Them beggars over there, that's the secret Police
The sweatshop owners yo they're playing for keeps
Like the boys I break bread with in VIC
The coppers and the guards yo they work for the cash
But not the numbers on their payslips, they switch up the math
That's just a little fuckin' bit about that
Pete's got this rap shit wrapped in a pack
Zip-locked, vacuumed, sealed with a kiss of death
Try and open if you're ready to test
Motherfucker
credits
from #Pete Volume 1,
released September 18, 2015
Written by MC Pete
Produced by Guttertrash
Vocals: MC Pete
Backing vocals: Jennifer Molloy
Bunks stacks layers on layers on layers with witty wordplay and bars within bars, all twisted and dark with no pretentiousness whatsoever. Nick One's beats provide the perfect backdrop. MC Pete