i see your first priorities are discussing me in maccy d’s at about half three,
while you’re munching on your quarter-pounder with cheese,
chatting about me and my abilities,
like s-o-v your sh*t, s-o-v can’t spit, s-o-v just quit,
ahh, whatever don’t talk with your mouth full b*tch,
while your discussing me its all publicity,
even if you’re cussing me you’re still dashing my name around the city,
it’s all good thought, (brapp brapp) publicity for free,
white midget, uh huh mic fidget,
somebody just dialed my digit,
s-o-v your no one, ha-ha is it,
flattered by the way you use your credit,
you fed it and you said it that i’m n*body,
if i’m n*body then why are you ringing me?
you drained your credit that’s killing it,
well my style you sure you aren’t felling it.
blah, blah, blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah in one ear and it comes straight out the other repeating
yourself like you got a stutter with all you mutter like reh reh reh reh rah
blah, blah, blah blah, blah, blah, blah, blah all your words in my brain are turning into clutter
repeating yourself like you got a stutter with all you mutter like reh reh reh reh rah repeating yourself like
you got a stutter with all you mutter like reh reh reh reh rah
people wanna cl*ssify me as an eminem, but hear what i’m a different kinda specimen, just because i be a
white caucasian, doesn’t mean me and him are the same, because one i’m not american 2 i’m not a man 3 i’m
coming through with a different kinda plan, setting the facts straight cause i know that i can purely
heavyweight cause i do the whole shebang. categories i don’t fit into any, i’m on so many styles i’m on
many, writing up more lines than burberry and dealing with beats like a victim of a bully. make you drink
my saliva off the floor the spit i pat when i walked in the door released my metapho. like cor blimey its
that white girl s-o-v!!
i know you don’t boast about me over your sunday roast or mid-morning cheese on toast.
but when i find out you’ve been talking i start sqwaking
s-o-v i never said that,
s-o-v you know you ain’t wack,
s-o-v i love your track,
what the f*ck do you want b*tch a pat on the back,
a blahbarian equals a soon to be beg-friend,
cause a beg-friend is an ex-blahbarian,
and they only start caring.
when you’re preparing a next big ridden that every deck is blaring.
“oh f*ck” i got posh people swearing,
the rich, the poor, the sn*bs the wh*r*s,
oh dear blahbarians galore!