[Cockney “O” Dire]
Ladies and gentlemen, title match-up here!
Over here now in the little dibby-dibby corner
Is the lightweight, bantamweight, can’t test us
And in de big corner is heavyweights
Step through, coo yah, weh great
And my name is Cockney “O” Dire and I first come through fire
But first, listen!
[Hook: Freestyle Fellowship]
I hear the sound of the beat in the background
I hear the sound of the big fat beat!
I hear the sound of the heavyweight beatdown
I hear the sound of the EQ beat!
I hear the sound of the beat in the background
I hear the sound of the big fat beat
I hear the sound of the heavyweight beatdown
I hear the sound of the EQ beat!
Give me an “F” (F!), give me a “R” (R!)
Give me a double “E”, “S-T-Y-L-E” (E!)
Give me an “F” (F!), give me a “E” (E!)
Give me a double “L”, “O-W-S-H-I-P” (P!)
[Verse 1: P.E.A.C.E.]
Mickey Mouse motherfuckers!
Payin' me under, or shootin' me under, this is a freestyle
Moving while I’m under, bring your mother down
To the solo bliss, so watch my lips, motherfucker!
[Verse 2: Cockney “O” Dire]
Certain MC’s get them flow from the radio
Me know some poets get them flow from the biblioteca
Look at audio big body on de grace and can’t find
Them kinda rhymers in de park a make ya dizzy
You may think you other MCs sound the same – "Yuh no crazy?"
You see the question, answer: Cockney “O” Dire
Like a water to a melon and a melon to a rine
I’m not Shabba but "I got the remedy fi your" mind
Description of the prescription, for the fools that won’t quit:
Constipate a steer and stop that bullshit!
Yo, I’m done, but wait!
Here comes the next heavyweight: Torch!
[Verse 3: Torch]
Twenty-eight beats, twelve bars, three hundred and twenty milliseconds
For the record I just suggested and left in question
How many sessions must I be blessing?
The herbal essence is the best when your shit is kept in
With beautiful lessons, I’m stressing the rest
The rest was long, my alarm clock took care of the rest
I woke up to choke, I broke the scope
To know the quotes of heavyweights and heavy coats
With heads that's dope, seven hundred and seventy-seven days away
I’m amazed to say, nobody pays to play
I got a fever and you called the paramedics
All of them tryna find out where your head is!
Heavyweights!
[Interlude: Cockney “O” Dire]
Break it up, break it up, boys – ok now, listen up good
I want nobody hitting below de belt
I don’t want no biting anybody’s rhymes
I want you to keep it clean
Now, go back in there and mix it up
And COME OUT STYLIN'!
[Verse 4: Big Arch]
I’m an emcee and I’m in when, when the rhythm is given
I'm choppin-it-up and choppin-it-up again
It’s never just me and my sin, rep is resistant to the minister
Choppin-it-up and choppin-it-up again
I’m stylin’ till they SAY!, playin' away on a violin type sway
Hey, back pain, and there’s gotta be a better way out than the lottery
The odds of me hittin’ are one in a million
Don't need to be kiddin' myself and the health on no fantasy wealth
I’m choppin-it-up, I'm stylin’
Choppin-it-up, the stylin'
Choppin-it-up a style again!
Flip the chicken over, bend em over, go win' em a Golden Globe award, I saw her fly by me on a flight to Texas, singing and swinging a battle axe
[Verse 5: Volume 10]
Raised in the hood, but so what?
All about the props you got to give, so get ‘em up!
Bold muh'fucker straight from L.A., jack!
Ain’t pushin’ no daisies, niggas GOTTA PACK!
Nightly, daily, even on holidays!
Swiftly, my men claims bodies nowadays
Quicker than the white men DID!
Look what you DID!
Twisting my style? You ain’t got much time to live!
Tired of wonderin' if you got my back!
Matter of fact, it might be you – come off the jack!
Timber, timber, who's that muhf-----s' rhyme?
Jet-stream, how clean, watch me as I climb!
[Verse 6: Myka 9]
Knuck-knuck-knuck, wack-ack-cack...
Imgonnawalkawaywitthat ching-ching, cha-ching!
But-it-woudn't-really-matter, cuz-it-would-only-make-sense-to-me!
Myka 9, it's a-me, head's being [gibberish]...
Wait... wait a minute, you shouldn’t touch me yet!
I'll jump out the radio, electro-proof!
I might go blub-a-dub-mud!-blip-doo, boo-hoo - ooh!
"Uh-huh, yea... I can do that too, BRUTE!"
Send 'em with string, rebels Tasmanian
Test many a mic, and fly a kite with these microphones
He say "Shazam!" and every sucker DJ starts urinatin' within their dun-da-dun's
So wicked is the waiting for the drum to come
I'll ill, so chill, I'll serve your whole crew or maybe sock you in your grill!
[Interlude: Cockney “O” Dire]
Alright, break it up, break it up, boys and come in here
I wanna explain the rules to you
I want none of this [*slaps*], none of [*chokes*], none of this [*rips*]
None of this [*spits*], none of [*breaking bone sound*], and none of that!
[Fighter:] "Yo, coach, but I don’t know what to do..."
[Coach:] Snap out of that boy, step it up, boy!
Those heavyweights will knock you to tomorrow, Rock!
[Verse 7: Self Jupiter]
I’m a mastermind, a disastered son
Who wouldn't be in a need of a career if it weren't for interferin' bastard swine!
It would appear rhyme travel is a muthafucka, whooka-whucka
"Teardrops falling on my..." – got a headache
Got a glitch, glitch, glitch, glitch inna my neck
Take, rattle... 'n roll!
Down below, wanna know....!
Are... you... single?
To mingle, bilingual belief in the emerald ring of a tingle jingle slogan!
Summoned by the King o' Queen o' bingo – Hogan’s Heroes!
I was swingin' from the trees, mysteries tomorrow!
For he's a jolly good skeezer, scallywag skank yank
Gank you, thank you, I'd like to drink you, drank you
Aren't you the person who I think you are?
I thought I shanked them all...
[whispers:] Style... style...
[Verse 8: Spoon (of Iodine)]
Style messiah, hot like a volcano with fire
Iodine utterin' idioms, syllables is seminal word
Criminals die by my last diss, sliced dead through warts of mass [?]
Just for the sake of ill obtuse quadruple bi-liberal frolic gettin' done [?]
Better brick rhetoric, sell 'em a cinema Skittle like parasitical leeches biting
Tonight might be the night for the iron like Mike
How many suckers left? Giving birth to a thousand deaths
So wax that ass, it’s Russian rouletting [*deep breath in*]
Me and my double-F, Freestyle Fellowship heavyweights
Looking for a porch so we can go swing and lamp in altered states [?]
The stupidest ludicrous idiots, already been lobotomized
I'll darken the skies with your ashes
Look in my eyes 'till your mind's inner-mind eyes are at Einstein's vibe
Irie goodbye
[Verse 9: Aceyalone]
Excuse me, pal – is that your style?
Pick it up and put it in ya pocket now
Or put it down, I’ll take it to the lost and found
Look!
You're pityin' yourself seein' yourself style in the mirror
'Cause I’m you... you don't get it yet...
Do you?
Can I take a deep breath?
*inhale*
Maybe I should rap like this?
Exhale, one time
*exhale*
Breathing function's fine...
Say, G... is it me, or did you pee?
Oooh-weee!
Out of my mind design, define my E-Y-E(-E-E-E...)
[Verse 10: Ganjah-K]
*smoking sound* ... Chronic!
Now lay me down to sleep, I pray to the Lord my soul to keep
And if I should die before I wake, I pray to the Lord my soul to take
My mind and my heart, my soul and my body parts
Take my whole anatomy, can it be real? A sequel!
One individual lyrical prose –
Stalkin’ and walkin’ the ghettos, smokin’ and forkin' the afros
Takin’ the wack foes keepin' the black bros down
In the game where to gain you maintain your grip
When the name and the fame it obtain eclipse
Physically fit, what’s the orthodox?
Rush the xerox, paradox to stop the wicked conspiracy
With a 9 millimeter Glock and the MAC-10
Watch for my partner John ("Yo, Doctor Bombay!")
Puttin' heads to bed and shred like parmesan, my legacy lives on!
My legacy lives on!
'Cause we're all heavyweights
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