[Verse 1: Nerve, Skrub, Nerve & Skrub]
Ayo, hush, son (Ssh), or get the fuck up
Catch me in the back of the club; I'm putting my ones up
A numbnut bangin' my track in the back of dump trucks
Like "Wassup?" Screws up in my cap like I'm a Munster
Yo, fuck a punter in the crowd, catch me at the pokie, stat
'Cause it's a gamble for these rappers if they think they dope on tracks
Without a feature, you ain't gettin' on my flow, son
'Cause who said you were dope… no one
I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't in it for the moolah
Get the crowd like ooh-rah, yeah, only spat a two bar
But the shit was too hard, Kill it like I'm on a spree
Atop the scenе, plotting schemes like a monarchy
Yo, thе Slim Shady look-alike, that high voice wannabe
Got them gold fingers, James Bond it like I'm Connery
I don't wanna see the schemes that you've written (Nah)
You ain't married to the game, so I can't fuck with you like Jud'ism
Yeah, soundin' like a yank, hmm, kinda wack, man
You jumpin' in the cypher like T—T—T—TeamBackpack
Hey, yo, scratch that, I put skinny crackers on the map, lad
Your trap rap's toxic, catch me rocking a hazmat
You think your life just to party? Then watch me crash that
Rocking up in matte black with my pen and pad packed
Crowd going "bap bap", like Wombat when I drop raps
Yo, and just like him, you best believe I'm where the bongs at
Ayy, clock that, I'm always on track when I work the whip
Murkin' cliques when I turn a spliff to a verse that's sick
I'm wondering how many rappers in my furnace fits
(All of 'em) 'Cause I burn 'em quick till they turnin' crisp
I murder kids if I haven't seen 'em earn a stripe
'Cause I con rad rappers with the way I murder mics
Represent, the ugly punk with a dirty mind
With a face that makes girls I like wanna turn to dykes
[Verse 2: Nerve, Skrub]
Yo, we party and then we bullshit
Say you pack a gat, never seen you pull it
I smack 'em back to school, kid, smashin' tracks, back-to-back classic raps
Lad, you should practise that, matter fact catch a slap
It's the action packed brainiac with the magic pad
Think your rappin's fat, man, I'm natural as my habitat
Yeah, I got you backtrackin' like a map
On some Manny Pac' when I smack a cat till he's flashing back
Like acid tabs, got you trippin' when I spit a verse
I'm sick with words, always leave 'em in a clinic, burnt
Tell me go to hell, nah, I'll bring the whole thing to Earth
'Cause these other rappers got no drive, 'less they're in a hearse
Think you're ill with verbs, 'cause you're a drill rapper?
I could rap overdosed on smack but you're still wacker
Pill packer on some dumb type rap
Your album ain't a hit, son, where the punch lines at?
Yeah, I heard your shit, didn't understand one line spat
So if you're thinkin' 'bout dissin' better run right back
This ain't just some hype track, we stay real on the regular
Say what you want, but you still ain't impressing us
We steez it up, greasy punks that never eat enough
'Cause every MC we see they flee or maybe been our lunch
For this past year on every single day, week, and month
So soon there's gonna be no more rappers left in the scene but us
Trust, 'cause you know it's Nerve, the verbal murderer
Servin' up words for the purpose of murkin' these herbs with a burner
You learnt from the worst; I serve a sermon in a fervent verse
Leavin' nerds perturbed and then return with a curse for the Earth
Ugh, tell 'em, right now it's too easy
So catch me put the scene in a box like Houdini
