Full Effect

Intro: It’s the mongrels, the hoods and DJ bones/ With Mass MC, and four microphones/ We’re about to get down, and prove we catch rec/ And make you bounce more than a cold man’s check/ Verse 1: Fatface I’m in full effect, like PJ’s magazine/ All my flows are butter cause I don’t use margarine/ Mate, spread the word, fatface is dropping raps/ I got your head nodding to the kicks during claps/ Perhaps you need a drink? Well shout me one too/ When I bust lyrics, I get thirsty for a brew/ Why not grab a slab? I’m sure the Hood’s agree/ “There’s nothing like a coldy, even better when it’s free”/ Stylish rhymes get flexed, especially when I’m drunk/ The piss in my system, brings out the funk/ Sometimes I run amok, but now I’m just maxing/ Back to the beat, that’s my way of relaxing/ I live for hip hop, I’m just sculling down a lager/ Ever days a hangover and the headaches seem harder/ What they really can’t stand is a pissed, bogan wanker/ I hate them fools more, than ‘Morning, hey Sri Lanka”/ Still, my life is chill, kinda like an esky/ Do I have any complaints? They’re all pretty pesky/ Maybe alcohol poisoning, but that I don’t fear/ The one thing I do is a pub with no beer/ Verse 2: Mass MC Now I’m a crossbred that’s humble/ Mass MC be on the free to dismantle/ The ones that mumbled lyricism/ Crews locked in verbal prison, they’re styles weak/ While dominion crew workers collab on Hilltop’s streets/ This is my fam, Debris hard up for once when he ate mega ramps/ Through the air, got more lucks/lux than a Ceddar Caravan/ All I smell in Adelaide is cones, ain’t seen an ugly chic yet/ Or skyscrapers/ But heaps of vapors on walls, it’s for a cause/ B-boys and girls in this part of Aus rock for sure/ Mad yumps run underground plantations/ I see it in their faces, they’re deeper than Hattians/ DJ bones spin faster than a scarcely, too dry [?]/ Hahahahaha, run and hide/ So how could you even think you trying to do these things/ I put fishing line on your hands and feet and keep you pulling strings/ Verse 3: Pressure Now who the MC’s that bring it live-r and tighter/ From freestyle writers, to biters, DJ Bones the insider/ Now, perfection’s what I strive for/ Cause imma true survivor/ Hear my voice from the underground, less you a diver/ Put your hands together, for the sound provider/ Cause many found desire to cover ground that’s high [?]/ And these men speaking in tongues that make your eardrums bleed/ Not here to give them what they want We here to give them what they need/ But some got fascination for the trash they make/ And they just masturbation, laceration/ Probably best in infatuations/ I rock tracks, 100 percent saturation/ It all comes down to the cash I making and wack creations/ From stagnations blocking your airways, MC’s rocking for airplay/ Why don’t you top in Belair way?/ Ah, Pressure set it in motion like it’s heavy on the track/ I took some from hip hop, and got a whole lot back/ I cut a whole lotta slack, paying dues, from twisting caps/ Now, mate, it’s systematic, kicking raps, so where the listeners at?/ All gathered around/ I make moves to pay dues, make moves, the ones/ I make using your fake crews, that’s late news/ Now I socialise with the local guys, put it on wax/ And vocalise, global wise/ And I don’t stop the rock/ You know we won’t Suffa, show ‘em how we do it/ Brother show ‘em how we know/ Verse 4: Suffa Well, I’d like to know if, you got the notion/ (Suffa MC) said, I’d like to know if, you got the notion/ That I’m not number one b-boy, I rougher all of y’all/ Keeping crowds packed from wall to wall/ So rock, rock y’all, don’t stop y’all (?)/ So keep on, like time, marching in formation/ Hilltop is, foot soldiers for the hip hop nation/ Battling flows with flows, battling hoes at shows/ Lyrical can doe, lyrical can doe/ So smash back, slash, I take your title/ With the sewer sound of my suicidal recital/ Who is down? You better because this rhyme will/ Cut up MC’s like Dj’s on vinyl/ And your time will be, final decided/ So when it comes down to it, the underground fluent/ Shall rise to the top, and flood these streets/ With Suffa’s speech over, muddy beats/ Wassup, we speak, we build, we talk/ On a culture imported here from New York/ It’s hip hop, it lives inside of us/ And we only let it out when we bust/