[Eddie P and Frisko]
Yo, I’ll boot your Mum in the head with steel toe caps
For having nipples like coat-racks and a
Cheese-grated fanny with no flaps
And I’ll use a scalpel to surgically remove your Mum’s clit off
Don’t worry about her nipples, they’ve already been bit off
By two of my mates squatting over her face having a shit-off
And yo, Lunar, you’re on our vibe, you should come and join the A-Team
But Matter, you need to snap out of this Don’t Flop daydream
Get yourself back to Leeds where you cover your nipples in
Spray cream and hang around a [?] fuckin’ gay scene
I’ve been Leeds, everyone eats tinned peas
The houses are appalling! Matter don’t live in a gaffe
He lives in a hole in t’floor covered with a sheet of tarpaulin
Lunar, why’re you talkin’? Stop it!
I’ve heard you hang around takeaways
With your Stiltskin single and your own plastic fork in your pocket
Last night, he clocked his Mum with a punter in t’walk-in closet
He was like “Fuckin’ hell, Mum! Fix up, man! He’s a really dirty bloke!”
“I know he is, son, but times is hard, and dirty note is dirty note”
His Mum’s pussy, it really reeks
Plus she’s got a peg leg with a wheel that squeaks
[?] dreadlock, if it comes to deadlock
I’mma put your Gran in a headlock and force-feed her eggnog
And when Matter’s battling, he likes to get all deep and personal
Well, here’s something deep and personal:
You’re going bald and that shit ain’t reversible
Shine that bowling ball, you slaphead!
Yo, Baldy, I don’t know you very well and I probably shouldn’t ask here
But after this, I’d love to rip your head in and wax it
And Lunar, I know I don’t know you
But if I knew a bird
Is it alright if one of the kids takes that thing out your ear
And just swings off your earlobe?
Ain’t my fault you’ve got titchy cocks
And your Mum and Dads can’t afford the Digibox
And I’ve heard that these guys are both infested with chickenpox
And have their [?] licking cocks

[Lunar C and Matter]
You pussies wearing matching rings as a symbol of abstinence
And say “no hetero” when you mention minges by accident
When you took a vow of celibacy, your Mum took a vow to sell her pussy
But she don’t get much, cause it’s balding and ginger
There’s mould on her sphincter and her fanny farts smell like Golden Virginia
And your Mum might be a cougar, fam
But trust, she’s got a gruesome flange
It stinks like a sewage plan and its
Seen more viruses than a broke movie fan’s computer has
And you were on BBC, but not cause of your battles or your rhymes
It’s cause you poured vodka into your pupils for the cameras on that night
They took you to the doctors, you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life
Said it don’t go in your bloodstream, it just damages your eyes
You stood and looked at the bitch like that was a surprise!
You couldn’t be more of a spastic if you tried!
There’s no way you’re fucking with Lunar and Matter logical
You put liquor shots in your eye? Man, that is horrible!
The next time you decide to splash your optical
With a brandy shot or two, I’ll pull a rapid rocket move
And turn that shot glass into a shattered monocle!
And your blindness is the reason your bars are irrelevant
Cause you were gobsmacked when, a second ago
You realized that we’re not black men
Yo, don’t use your contact lens as a shot glass then
And you need to send thank you letter to
The BBC editor, cause the shit that you left out of that
Documentary was even sketchier
You two giving each other Hennessey enemas on a regular
Frisko and Edward call theirselves the Bass Invaders
When they’re ripping their sets up
But you faggots should just combine your names like Jedward
Cause you’re fed wood on a regs, bruv
Fuck your whole life, Frisko!
On weekdays, you and Eddie run a mobile disco
Doing weddings for some old white rich folk
Performing drum ‘n’ bass renditions of old Motorola ringtones
Fuck anyone who thinks these faggots can beat Matter and me
I’ll climb stark bollock naked up your family tree
And drag my balls across the face of every slag that I meet