"I'm like the moment of ecstasy, the ear-gasm.
Phenomenon no man can fathom, the phantasm.
With hell-fire for the grand-dragon.
Draggin' 'tag-alongs' longin' for a ride on my bandwagon.
Treatin' raps like blackjack or backgammon.
It's not a game and you lack talent.
You're like a cack-handed crack addict with a smack habit.
Hypnotised by my black magic.
Mesmerised as it all adds up in a mathmatical manner.
I build bars out of bad grammar.
The sandman, I move minds in the moonlight.
Moonshine sippin', shaped dreams out of moonbeams.
Project new nightmares against blue screens.
The illusion of everyday routine moves me to meditate.
I paint 'dream-scapes'.
I spend late nights, ridin' to beat tapes these days.".
Intro (Liquor Soaked Sentiments) by Jehst.
"How do expect me to sleep at night knowin' my people ain't eatin' right?
Gimme a mic, I'll strike with heat like a meteorite.
F*ck the media hype.
Scribes sniping at me and mine.
Megatron clockin' Autobots with the eagle eye.
They got you covered, from eye colour to your sneaker size.
Revolutionaries demonised, Mother Earth colonised.
Stolen culture commoditised.
Modified genes, each regime modernised.
Maximum terror, fear and efficiency.
Military missionaries.
New age crusades.
Faith for your misery.
Minds in the grind.
No time to meditate on the mysteries of life.
Can't motivate, drive trapped in the traffic jam.
Bare-knuckle boxing, brand new caravan.
I m cat-a-walling like Margarita Prakatan.
'Til Sona Fam go platinum in Pakistan and stack collateral.
Watch the country bumpkin smash the capital.
Smack the sabbatical, batter the biblical.
Smooth, I move as a criminal do.
Beatin' me'll take a miracle, dude.
I'm screwface in the mili-ist mood.
Make you eat your greens.
You ain't leavin til you finish your food.
My outlook is like a villainous view of the near future.
Beer goggles, a bottle of brew and the punky brewster, puffin'.
Taking your title, no discussion.
Two shades darker, Mr. Parker on percussion.
I'm goin' global so folk are all approachin' me locally.
Hoping that I grab the mic, I'm like 'Hokily dokily'.
Straight Ned Flanders.
Blaze trees and leave dead branches.
I see red, think left - my mindset's Marxist.
Overstand and we'll get past this.
More talk and less carnage.
Calm and peace.
The future's bright, the future's the mark of the beast.
A devil with a smile is easily the hardest to beat, yo.
I'm here caving my niche so I stand out from the damn crowd at the freak show.
Find wifey and breeze.
The system want me on my knees at ninety degrees.".
Brimstone Rock by Jehst.
"It's the million militant picture paintin', quick debatin'.
I hit terrain, my trainers grip the pavin'.
The city's depraved, decayed, quick to cave in.
I kick the greatest game, pick up the pace.
Shake the cage, rattle bars, we bare battle scars.
Fresh blood out the abattoirs.
Avantgarde rappers aren't ready for champagne and caviar.
I stay camouflaged armed with a travelcard.
Travel unchartered paths.
Pass the parcel, I'm partial to parsley, puff it like Bob Marley.
Charged without charlie, chalk the score up.
Babylon upon us, better board the door up.
Dancefloors are torn up, we tourin' Europe.
Warlords secure, f*ck Tora Bora caves.
I fornicate with hate.
Make love to the break.
Each verse a verbal earthquake.
Make the world celebrate my birthday.
Sick in the worst way, wastin' away waitin' for first aid.
I break bread with the first ape to walk upright and talk just like a drunk on a rough night.
'Nuff strife.
Street queens sellin' themselves at cut price.
Open like butterfly knives, it's not nice.
I rock mics.
Duppy put rock in their pipes.
Deprived puppies keep barkin', blockin' my light.
Yap yappin' at my ankles.
I work so many angles, so my jeans jangle like bangles.
I manhandle ample stress, spark bless, then I blow out the candles.
Get sweet dreams.
J-Star spits for catharsis.
Me and Dr Who buil'in' spliffs in the tardis.
Leave your reputation tarnished.
I talk carnage, garnish tracks with ganja and garlic for vampire varmints.
Fire for them halfwits, and hard heads who start shit.
Any last requests? Spark your last spliff before you get dragged into darkness.
I walk through your palace in the raggedest garments.
Baggy hangin'-off-of-my-arse shit.
I spit arsenic, if you're askin' the wrong questions.
In the studio for long sessions.
Stressed out about the rent, every pound spent, lost or lent.
Begged, borrowed or stolen.
Wrestlin' with stress like it's Hulk Hogan.
Baby that drank the whole cauldron of magic potion.
Potent, I painted my own slogan.
Alone smokin' a cone, stoned.
Approachin' in a Trojan horse, with a hundred heads from up North.
Negative and 'nuff coarse of course.
Forcefully stormin' your fort.
The rebel with a cause without pause for thought.
It's war.".
Run Hard by Jehst.
"The sun sets over cityscape silhouettes.
Bright lights flicker.
Cigarette smoke pirouettes.
It's the addictive kiss of death in effect.
I'm a little stressed, spittin' liquor-breath introspect.
Hot like triple x.
Getting lost in the mixing desk.
Sweat glistens like glitter-balls reflect.
Recollect on the dreamscape.
Escape the freebase infested police state.
Teenage protesters riot in the heatwave.
Fire in the streets.
Place bets on the sweepstakes.
Check how the greed shapes their mindsets.
The beast clockin' like Timex.
Flexin' their biceps.
B.N.P. berserkers bent on murders.
Teens taggin' for a sense of purpose.
Streets is tense and nervous.
So bait is bound to tempt the serpent's appetite.
Parasite paradise.
Po-lice patronise.
Lappin' up a pack of lies.
Macho guys turn hermaphrodite by candlelight.
Still they wanna scandalise mine cos I spit rhyme.
I'm tryin to scrape the paper and escape quick-time.
Get yours.
Utilise your get-out clause.
Outlaws on course for the great outdoors.
I'm way out like Cheech Wizard.
Keepin' warm in the winter blizzard.
Bangin' my head like Lynard Skynard.
I'm havin' nightmares.
I'm naked in my groundfloor flat.
Grippin' a baseball bat.
With the backdoor open to night-time predators.
Crack heads high like heaven gone wrong, watchin' back street revellers.
Revelation of the devil's messed up messengers.
Sin is effortless, yet effecting us.
In fact infecting us with disease.
Beast inspecting, expecting us to mess up.
Muck up.
Leave you bruck up.
You'll get beaten the f*ck up, and cuffed.
Some even got snuffed.
Others live on to puff another bag and brag how they're mad tough.
Man, I've had enough.
There's nothin' out here for none of us.
There's nothin' out here for us.
Negative forces force us to live lawless and spit rawness.
I'm like a china shop taurus.
I talk of torment and pen chorus after chorus.
Post-modernist, pre-apocalypse.
Livin' in this rotten metropolis.
Existing with broken homes, hearts and promises.
Park bench politics.
Soapbox soap-bar smokers acknowledge this novelist.
The broke pocket economist on a mission.
Fists clenched for the opposition.
Sittin' tight like taliban in Tora Bora.
The last stand.
Now we're livin' in the land of the lost and the age of Sodom and Gomorra.
Divide and conquer.
You're blocked by the border.
Locked by the law and order.
The war reporter walks streets as the cycle of suicidal thoughts repeats in the minds of the poor and meek.
A meat market of morbid freaks and freebase heads speak to inform the beast.
A bleak picture.
The cycle of war and peace is crazy vulgar.
Sick as the kids that killed Damilola Taylor and Jamie Bulger.
My heart broken open and beating slower.
The cold-blooded grow even colder in a globe so rotten like teeth in cola.
No hope of mending.
A culture of violent endings pending.
Our pens become government scapegoats, but no guns bust at my stage show.".
China Shop Taurus by Jehst.
"Like Bukowski, the alcoholic author.
Son of the devil, I turn wine into water.
My physical form's a metaphor for disorder.
Absorb the trauma.
My state is before the light and I am short of time.
Sure to find my keeper.
Alive within reach of the reaper.
The light sleeper drifts deeper into darkness.
Read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers.
Born after the last generation of gypsies.
Move from the sticks to the cities.
Give me 26 characters for home sick travellers.
Bi-centennial men, hunter/gatherers who run with the scavengers and brave the dangers.
My tongue a labyrinth in this maze of pages.
Playin' David, I stand defiant to the last standing giant.
The android man, I walk silent and talk science.
The child who sought guidance.
The war cry echoes through these blood stained empires.
Fascinated by the fire like a child try'na touch the flame.
I see change like a busker, but things stay much the same.
Cut the weather vein.
I hear blood water tapping out the lord's morse code on my windowpane.
I rain dance 'till the harvest comes.
Brave hearts keep beating to the hardest drums.
Bastard sons of lost gods long forgotten.
Monolithic heads on this island gone rotten.
On top of the world or on the bottom of the food chain?
We stay the same, but our fears take a new name.
We're all players, so place your bets.
You made your bed, lay in it and pray for the best.
Death's door stays open to all without prejudice.
I'm the fifth element of war with my nemesis.
Brainstorm genesis, this is the start.
My whole world's overcast so I live in the dark.
I adapt, now my vision is sharp.
Go home to my house made of glass and throw stones for a laugh.
The favourite that came in last.
I clutch at straws and I'm cut by a blade of grass.
I done enough for you, you've done nothing for me.
I'm puffing the tree, the bloodshed you're rushing to see.".
Alcoholic Author by Jehst.
-AC