[Intro]
Yeah!
Yeah, Yeah
Like a fat sack of phlegm
Get your phlegm out
And such

[Hook]
Yeah naturally
I'm mashed till you just can't chat to me
When I am like this
Can't get mashed for free
So just grab a gram and then skank with me
Its goes like this

Yeah standardly
I'm mashed till you just can't chat to me
When I am like this
Can't get mashed for free
So just grab a gram and then skank with me
Its goes like this

[Verse 1] (Jam Baxter)
So who's the man all these yats are embarrassed of?
Hammered at your Jam sat blabbering and chatting rough
Baxter, back with the swagger that you haven't got
Rapper - Slash! - Slacker - Slash! - Slasher in a mackintosh
See me gallop half-battered with a sack of snot
Last seen last week staggering in Charing Cross
Man I haven't washed since Champion Fraff dropped
And what, I'll still ask your yat for a handjob!
Damn what's the plan Bosh?
(Ronnie Bosh)
Can we reign terror
Whoever butt the fam just made a grave error!

(Jam Baxter)
Yeah Contact Play
The baitest breys ever
On stage in a vacant state but stay fresher
Run upon a yat like "Safe the name's Pleasure
And I can make your pasty face a shade redder"
Then I see her gwan some baitly lame bredda
But fuck it, he probably played the game better

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Jam Baxter]
So it goes drink then, thumb then act like it never gwan
Neck a jar, spend another tenner on your credit card
Fuck it! Ain't like these years will ever last
Smuggle in a bucket of cheap beer and get a glass
Its getting dark as my hands get snottier
Trying gets raxy the mans get cockier
Head keeps spinning as my skank gets sloppier
The sweat keeps dripping as the yats get soggier
Come on officer please, its just sugar!
And I ain't no creepy sleazy drug pusher
I just wanna leave and sleep with some hooker
But I'm punch drunk, hugging a greasy subwoofer
Like damn!
What happened to the bashment?
Come to, butt n***, battered and abandoned
Strapping up the anthem, flick it in your face
Cause there ain't nothing wrong with a little bit of waste
Now is there?
[Hook]

[Verse 3: Jam Baxter]
It's like I swore I'd be good, but I'm bored
And it looks like I just ain't up to the test
So I walk in the shubs with a score in my hood
And a drug shaped lump in my crepes
Well I'm the born freak dribbling at your feed
Spitting till my jaws bleed, living life pissed
And we all keep swigging as we all keep dripping
As the walls keep spinning like this, like this, like this
So I stepped in the party all lah-de-dah
With nasty ass garms cause I can't be arsed
Cause bar for bar I'm harder than half the tarts
That prance the stage at raves in Armani scarfs
The carnage starts, then it's all back to his gaff
Sit mashed, dribbling and pissing in a bin-bag
Wake up stinking and cringe as I think back
Can't believe I did that, man, that shit's brassed