so how many mc’s you heard flow like this?/
do double time grime and claim ‘i’m a real lyricist’/
but at the first hint of money, they wanna be minted and so run/
 do a club track, rock a vid with be-panted scantily clad girls on/
oh, i hear they do it for fun, and for a while it works/
timewheels turning, you’re spliff burning,banging fame yearning girls so merked/
they’re asking which rapper are you again/
 what’s you’re best song is it bout shoes, clothes,money or the fact your so fame-/
ous, you chatter its the latter and so the irony goes/
you’re becoming obsessed with pussy and ho’s, to be dressed in fine clothes/
and so, the reduction of an MC to a randy dandy/
barely spitting over shit electro to wankers fucked on mandy/
or louts so drunk they can hardly stand, see/
they merely leer, at pouting, powdered ladies who fear they’re dreary/
sincerely i’d rather ride dubs toasting like our forefathers could/
 trace a line back to machuki, stitt, U-Roy for they understood/
that to move on up is not to leave behind/
for the path you walk is not yet designed/
in my mind one can drop gun talk postering and still with aplomb/
spit mindful, inciteful bars about where you came from/
bringing to public ears stories of fear and degradation/
within pockets of every city littered throughout the nation/
for our instituitions still producing on a production line/
into jobs from the russell group, repeat that on a loop, so many are left behind/
so a message to MC’s, crossover properly/
have no fear of flopping and don’t let bullshit have a monoply/
for there are a plethora, a panoply of stories to be told/
and remember when the you hold/
 the mic you’re a master of the ceremony/
and in my eyes thats truly holy/
so lets have club anthems decrying Neo-liberal actions/
or asking why china get away with their human rights record without any sanctions/

so if you get that “one shot, get your chance to blow”/
put a message in your music, don’t just spit hot air when you flow.