[Scratches]
"Comin' to ya live, live, live"...

[Verse 1: Supa T]
It's the psychedelic phlegm lord, space walk boogie don
Shadow king telepath, fuck Telecom
Hundred hand clapper, rapper
Spud shoulder, grudge holder
Half pint o whisky with a shot of Coca-Cola
Light-weights lashed off a sip, clockin' my cypher
Blaze saddles, Gene Wilder, it's the sun rider
Sickist sound provider, one man tornado
Know smashing tracks like Tony knew yayo
Machismo schizo, sensitive with ammo
Top-cat, close friends get to call me 'Django'
White mans play Dibble, shove ya 2nd hand right rule book
Straight up your arse now play second fiddle
It's that simple, bear-hug precussion
Time for headz to do somethin', waiting on a black Russian
Jehst, Kyza, Harry Love hold a heavyweight phrase
I done blaze with MK, since the West Ken days
Shout to big john, that's right it never stops
Bods got pranged like they smoked off of twenty rocks
Can't prevail digi like electric scales
I spit back liquid, surf tsunamis on a killer-whale
You understand me? Sharp like rap CDT stanley
So all you fucking emcees switch to plan b!
Django van smash the world til the world knows
You think it's easy? You can come and smell my work clothes

[Chorus]
Yo.. Always watch for the spies and the ones who kanive
Tryna do all to survive, understand it's all live
"Comin' to ya live, live, live"...

[Verse 2: Jehst]
I do this for hermits with herb habits who burn cabbage
Green-bag gatherin', batterin' earth language
The most heavy handed wrapped in a dirt bandage
Slappin' a verse, amateurs learn my words challenge
The gem-drop, greasy hand in the pen-pot
Pent-up stress got Jehst bunnin' fresh crops
Red-hot rapper, green cross on my veg plot
Hedge-hop allotments, bop on cement blocks
Players get sent off! They feel like they know
Where they are but they're still in a sense lost
Ten spots get twisted up like dread-locks
Head-nod hip-hop fresh from tha sweat-shop
It's slave labour, we chase paper
The snail's paced trail-blazer
On a 5-foot hot-step, a long haul for the box-fresh
Sandstone body-rock, deeper than loch ness
Connect like Lennon and McCartney, master bare palmed
Barbwire origami, army fatigue clan
Fingerz deep in the weedsack
Free-hand scribble, paint dribble on a neat tag
Alot of people need feedback, squeeze the caffeine outta teabag
Break out of rehab, finger tap-tappin' on the key-pad
Typewritin'; hi-lighting the strength of a rhyme tightened

[Chorus] {X2}

[Verse 3: Kyza]
I'm in another plain, rugged terrains where I explore
And study laws, ancient wars and folk-lore
My sweat pours through pores as I walk the hills and moors
Openin' lock doors with the keys that dreams forge
Lessons are taught but still knowledge is sought
And faces contort from the wounds of battles fought
More souls died at dawn as orphans cryed and mourn
Clothes ragged and life's edges are jagged and worn
A rebel without cause, with no pause for thought
I'm mentally distraught plus no brevs support
When escape attempts from my prison amount to nought
It's my feelings that these demons wanna extort
The blood draws as my fists pound the brick walls
I curse the earth as me and lucifer lock horns
I swore to the lord and my soul once before
That I would rid earths shores free from Devil's spawn
And kids born from wars with snake tongues and claws
Open sores raw, and spit drips from their jaws
The visual lies blind the eyes of the poor
Young King's and Queen's being used as pawns
But the price of my life is much more than I can afford
So Satan's call at all times must be ignored
I stand unsure in my hand a bloody sword
I can't absorb all the trauma I've endured
As I retrace steps on lawns walked on before
Where shattered dreams lay fragmented on the floor
All in all I'm in mental free-fall
But my thoughts soar with the speed of concordes
I can't make sense of distorted metaphors
That are stuck in my mind like daggers, swords and thorns
These unsteady hands jaded pictures are drawn
By the child of the corn whose mental fabric is torn

[Chorus] {X2}

[Scratches]