[Intro: Fatface & Pressure]
It’s the Mongrels, the Hoods and DJ Bonez
With Mass MC and four microphones
We’re about to get down, and prove we catch wreck
And make you bounce more than a conman’s cheque

[Verse 1: Fatface]
I’m in full effect (What?), like PJ’s magazine
All my flows are butter 'cause I don’t use margarine
Mate, spread the word, Fatface is dropping raps
I got your head nodding to the kicks, snare and claps
Perhaps you need a drink? Well, shout me one too
When I bust lyrics, I get thirsty for a brew
Why not grab a slab? I’m sure the Hood’s agree
"There’s nothing like a coldy, even better when it’s free”
Stylish rhymes get flexed, especially when I’m drunk
The piss in my system brings out the funk
Sometimes I run amok, but now I’m just maxin'
Back to the beat, that’s my way of relaxin'
I live for hip-hop, then sculling down a lager
Ever [?] a hangover and the headaches seem harder
What I really can’t stand is a pissed, bogan wanker
[?] more than Warney hates Sri Lanka
Still my life is chill, it's kinda like an Esky
Do I have any complaints? They’re all pretty pesky
Maybe alcohol poisoning, but that I don’t fear
The one thing I do is a pub with no beer
[Verse 2: Mass MC]
Now I’m a crossbred that’s humble
Mass MC be [?] dismember ones that mumbled lyricism
Crews locked in verbal prison, their style's weak
While dominion crew work a collab on Hilltop’s streets
This is my fam, Debris hard up for once
When he ate mega RAMs
Studio got more lights than a [?] Caravan
All I smell in Adelaide is cones
I ain’t seen an ugly chic yet, or skyscrapers
But heaps of vapors on walls, it’s for a cause
B-boys and girls in this part of Aus rock for sure
Mad yumps run underground plantations (Ha)
I see it in their faces, they’re deeper than Hattians
DJ Bonez spin faster than a scuzzy two drive
Hahahahaha, run and hide
So how could you even think of tryna do these things?
I put fishing line on your hands and feet [?] pulling strings

[Verse 3: Pressure]
Now who the MCs that bring it liver and tighter
From freestyle writers, to biters, DJ Bones the insider
Now, perfection’s what I strive for, 'cause I'ma true survivor
Hear my voice from the underground, 'less you a diver
Now put your hands together for the sound provider
'Cause many found desire to cover ground that’s higher
Than these men speaking in tongues that make your eardrums bleed
Not here to give 'em what they want, we here to give 'em what they need
But some got fascination for the trash they make and they just masturbation
Laceration's from pubescent infatuations
I rock tracks, 100 percent saturation
It all comes down to the cash we're making and wack creations
From stagnations blocking your airways
MCs rocking for airplay, won’t you stop in Belair way?
Ah, Pressure set it in motion, I gets heavy on the track
I took some from hip-hop, but got a whole lot back
Got cut a whole lot of slack, paying dues, from twisting caps
Now they insistin' that I kick a rap, so where the listeners at?
(All gathered around) I'll make moves to pay dues
Mate, who's the one to break youse and your fake crews?
That’s late news, now I socialise with the local guys
Put it on wax to vocalise global wise
And I don’t stop the rock, you know we won’t, Suffa
Show ‘em how we [?] show ‘em how we don't
[Verse 4: Suffa]
Well, I’d like to know where
You got the notion (Suffa MC)
Said, I’d like to know where
You got the notion (DJ Bonez, DJ Debris)
That I’m not number one b-boy, [?] all of y’all
Keepin' crowds packed from wall to wall
So rock, rock y'all (Rock y'all), don’t stop y’all (Stop y'all)
Yes, yes y'all (Yes y'all), you keep on, like
Time, marching in formation, Hilltop is (Is)
Foot soldiers for the hip-hop nation
Battling flows with flows, battling hoes at shows
Lyrical can doe, lyrical can doe
So smash (Smash), backslash, I take your title
With the sewer sounds of my suicidal recital
Who is down? You better be, 'cause this rhyme will
Cut up MCs like DJs on vinyl
T—time will be the final decider
So when it comes down to it the underground fluid
Shall rise to the top and flood these streets with
Suffa’s speech over muddy beats
Wassup, we speak, we build, we talk
On a culture imported here from New York
It’s hip-hop, it lives inside of us
And we only let it out when we bust