The Chauffer

What do you see?

How is your depression related to the above?
The new New York City.
Real representation retaliation regards roaring over ramjets,
I'd stick my self to prove a point to these toy pets.
Wanna act like that your strip, you can't control a playstation, let alone a patch, we bare pimp, air blimp, sipping on something pink, purple, end up walking round the hood like Urkel.
You pay the price for the perks through personality perverts pissing on your stupidly stunning sensuality.
Can you imagine a beautiful day?
I can't. I got a problem with the smell of burning oil and urban decay, fuck Louie V, rather rep Perth City, nothing left to believe, the degrees earnt point to perfection and precise splices of spicy chicken. Deep fried like a crackhead on a bender, who got the juice, who needs the boost? This shit doesn't sell itself. You boring fucks need something to idolize. Something to autocorrect. Something to hate, something to believe in, an idealogly seperate from the seven sins or the Muslims. Selling dreams under the bridge near Meltham station, when I ride Transperth I make sure I tag on.
Spooky motherfuckers hide a ringtone in your beat, flip the flunkie to a junkie to get milked like a cow now, I smear blood above your eyebrow. If this is this, and this is the place, the bitch, I smeared her face with piss. So now I'm gonna spit in it.
Demeaning feening, never cleaning and always on that greener mean without the median, middle of the food chain, lean toward carnivorous, catch me devouring the vegan. Fuck your big man laughter, we'll
see who's laughing when I'm sticking ya mothers daughter. Cos I taught ya. So shit ya pants and do what ya 'oughta.

MOTHERFUCKERS
EAT
THIS
EYESORE.

REAL TALKING

Spiritually, I conquer verbally, ya hearda me, not ya average, love colcanon cos I love chewing threw bacon and cabbage, and noone cares about your words, you out of order, like the broken turnstile you dropped a handstyle on, CCTV recording ya.

You can't come up dissing us down, that's like Michael Jackson doing a set at my 13 year old daughters party dressed as a clown.
Ya see fake, I ain't coming through with no weakness, you see the crew and I roll by, you run and youse weepses. Close your eyes but open your peepers, I got a penknife pointed at your weakness. So sleepless, every night I lay awake in bed, dreaming dreams about something that someone else said, so I wink with all eyes open, always above with a select few chosen, none of your talk for now, I've chewed too many Endone's, it's giving me itchy bones, and all I wanna do us stay at home alone, with benzos and cones.

The Good News.

What a last few weeks months whatever.
I've had toys, chompers, gotten done and done stompers.
Back to the grind, in all ways, shapes and forms,
Invading the girls dorms through laptop storms.
Dear John,
Do not ever, come home.

Fucking, what a life.
Life is like a box of chocolates. If you get too hot you meltdown, into a weird marbled chocolate lump of rehardened cocoa and milk.

These cats creep around like they got the crown, forlorn when feens feign the reign,
At least make it legal to marry your cousins.
COS IT 'APPENS ANYWAY ESHAY.

And that's the good news.

Four Minutes.

Dingbats be on some fairy tale dream shit,
It's all good mate, you've been greenlit.
It's all crocodile smiles and metaphor denials from masters of manipulation. Vocabulary based self worth justifiers of self taught paced liars.

A soul ain't a soul without one.
The decible level hit homebaked homebase, the crowd watched as the only runner came second place.
Your shit seems so forced, so unviable,
There might be a market, but you selling out,
It's undeniable.
Presenting free proof to all troops regardless of caste, colour, crew or creed,
So brace yourself in for your fifteen seconds,
Ride dick, ride fixies, ride coat tails,
Ya reckon?

I GOT A HATER

You like a butterfingered second hand shop employee, dropping the donations like names, your play for fame,
Lame.
All the hard knocks you say you got, I have to reiterate son, you just losing the plot, to a reality TV show you ain't even on, so what the fucks going on?
Your paranoia made your brain go walkabout,
Real talk, real strong, raised on Brussel Sprouts,
So be like the ninties band and have No Doubt,
When I swag through town it's plain to see clout,
So you shoulda thought about that before you opened ya mouth, I don't care what you are, who your friends know or who's ya familia,
I got a crate full of hate and a freestyle abilty that will kill ya.
I make claims like insurance but it wasn't a spinal injury so I can back them up, so neck up parrot,
You like Rabbit,
I'm like snatch it and grab it then dack it.
No competition,
No definition, go back to the kitchen.

Smoke more herbs, and when I say herb I mean it like a diss, like the fakery and trickery you tend to see, the forged mirroredl mask of true identity, I got crew who make beats, I got crew who make beatings, let me know next time you want beef, I'll buy them front row seating, cos I ball while you fall, you fell from Grace now you fallen flat, and you coming at me with some I take more drugs than you crap?

You ain't enlightened, you just frightened, while I be balling like a drop punt, I'll even pay to fly Billie Jean back from Melbourne just to watch her stomp your cunt.
So what gives?
I can be rude like that and give you plenty of ammo to fire back,
I shouldn't even retaliate, your shit was keyboard warrior wack, played out like an OG NES controller, So I got a Duck Hunt gun ready to make your pixels fold over.

"Insults are the best compliments."
AND ITS NOT AS IF I GIVE TWO FIFTHS OF A WHOLE FUCK, try ya luck, I engage the viewer of the page, you just rage and pine for centre stage.

I said I wouldn't but I did.
Let's see how far this goes.
Hopefully to Hell and back.
Then there might be a bit of an understanding.



Trinity Old Kunts Association 04.

Love Me Sexy by Jackie Moon.

My wrist no watch, just a reminder,
Drugs aren't the answer but they make people seem kinder,
If you got something to say lad, say it to my frilly lace,
And if you don't comprehend my slang then you won't be keeping up the pace,
Like the kid from the Smoking ads, you be outside of the party, try step inside, get a sideswipe from Marty,
Cos he's just one of the members of the cult and boy, we got plenty more, established from Perth, migrated to Adelaide, Melbourne, London and Singapore.
I know a guy who knows a guy who can get me something on the cheap,
Can't blame a guy for just trying to eat,
Feed whatever habit you got, like stuffed nuns and potatoes, migrate upwards like scrolling back in Halo.