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lirik lagu infinite kif – watkin tudor jones

settle, settle down boys, f-ck it’s late
got spoek mathambo, hans double(??) pumping his fists in the corner
settle down man, stop thinking about my beat, its my beat
relax, i’m down f-ck it man i’m down man

i hate eugene terror and all your f-ckin’ white knights
(do do do do, do do do do, do)
welcome to my fright night!
[beat boxing]
beat box slayer
your wife m-st-rbates to steve hofmeyr, uh
now here’s my word to your daughter
if your dad ever puts his hands in your pants or
tries to make you touch his w-lly go tell your mom
same goes for your brother and your uncle and your cousin
think the rapper knows what’s up, but he doesn’t
hey don’t bug me, i’m watching the rugby

my biltong makes me feel strong
stretchy b-tches love me
patricia lewis knows who’s the newest
mc totally rad, rocking knee-high khaki socks
b-tches from benoni wanna blow me
i’m sending big shout outs to all my satanic homies
throat sucking goats f-cking from bloemfontein to port elizabeth
i’m bored of visitors from zimbabwe trying to park my car
leave me alone, i can park it on my own!

(word)
i’m on some 1992 brand new with a 80s twist
lightning bolts, loop machines, brainwash amazingness (fok..)
pop terrorists, destroy all compet-tors
dark nemesis, manipulate media

i don’t live on the streets, but i walk on the streets
don’t fly through outer sp-ce when i talk on the beat
when i enter the place, everyone gawking at me
like my head is a microwave and my body’s a fridge
open my chest, stare at my lights
so what i’m a robot?
don’t you open my head, read the warning dummy
you’ll get dead very quick
i’m very, very sick
right here on earth
trying my best to get better
rappers all high, rapping from inside the sp-ce station
to sp-ce monkeys in the circle, nodding their heads vacant
you’re running out of energy, no more sun
rent money, food, irrelevance, et phone home
i fly in the air, flex my sk!ll at big fancy festivals
smile for the camera, grabbing my t-st-cl-s
rappers sound identical, like awards festivals
you poef fluffy baby coochi-whoochie, i’m terrible
(rarr!)

now run tell your mommy
f-ck the money, i”m in it for the young girls punani
sniff, sniff, cooshi-tush, push mushy bush
yeah dog! (i’m not a dog i’m a wolf.)
i rap like i’m standing next to you in the lift without speaking
when you’re thinking about what you’re doing this weekend
you in the shallow end with arm bands
i’m in the deep end, underwater your legs look good
you’re like “what the?”

i’m on some 1992 brand new with a 80s twist
lightning bolts, loop machines, brainwash amazingness
pop terrorists, destroy all compet-tors
dark nemesis, manipulate media

i’m real like the landlord
the lord of the land
you suck, stuck as f-ck
everyone is bored of you man
you know when you go to sleep funny and you can’t feel your leg?
well you’re still asleep, dummy, plus your whole heads gone dead
i’ll punch you in the face, you still won’t feel it
like pow! did you feel that? exactly!

i walk around town, refrigerator style it ain’t the moseneke
kids laugh, fill me with stuff, making fun of me
til i overheat emotionally
hubbly-bubbly for company
mc totally rad hug a tree

rappers are stupid, very f-cking stupid
not quite as stupid as me, i’m the new kid
walking down the block, in my kak flip-flops
pajama pants, my t-shirt says “f-ck hip hop”
people look at me like i’m some kind of gross stain
this ghost plane is most strange, i’ll hurt your head like growth pains

i live on my own like a dream come true
who would of thought?
i’m like “wow, this is incredible!”
all the other me’s before me looking to the future
with a big glow in the chest give me a round of applause
free money get a stupid f-cking dead head wetter
interesting mood spreader make everything better
f-cking jesus;
poes-c-nt-f-ck-sh-t-what
nothing, so suck off the d-ck in your mouth w-nker

brand new
mc totally rad
dj f-ck
aka f-cknrad
go back to sleep
that’s brilliant

- watkin tudor jones

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