Posh British Boy Raps In Car

Stacked with more sweet bars than a kiosk
Uh, bred posh like brioche
Spitting on the mic is my duty for you
Though I look like David Tennant crossed with Louis Theroux
How am I so sick? That is such a riddle
I'm a class act and the class is upper middle
But my bloody phrasing's just amazing
Rhymes so cold you'll need double glazing
Your girl not attractive in the slightest
My girl leggy like a hundred spiders
Your girl costs you lot financially
My girl cheap 'cos she's imaginary
Still, I got that manly humanity
I live in a mansion with a really big manatee
Man saying I'm not manly when I rhyme
But I'm such a man's man I say "man" all the time

Like Manner man are rapping in has managed to be mangling
Semantics 'til I'm animate and manic as a mannequin
I'm angrily demanding man to manacle thesе maddening
And manufactured rappers that I'm manually dismantling

Uh, I'm likе a big door
'cos I'm about to slam
And I'm not handing out conserve
When I say I'll make the crowd jam
My bars are sick
With the dopest rhyme schemes
And I'll shut down your bars
Like I'm COVID-19

When I'm on the microphone I rip it to infinity
Sickest with the syllables and sibilance and similes
Stop that quibblin', got that discipline
Take a whack rapper and I stick 'em in the litter bin
Rap a fly spectacle and stand on my pedestal
Ball so hard like a calcified testicle
Uh, all these lame jokers need to know I hate posers
No plastic plants, but these rappers just some fake flowers
Yeah, I'll make these suckers mad because I'm such a lad
I'm a bad motherfucker, I keep fucking dads

My gun brings heat like a massive cooker
Firearm on point like Alan Sugar
Yeah my gun's so big, it's really quite super
I shoot and destroy cats like Tom Hooper
I'm firing bullets steadily
You're firing blanks: vasectomy
I'm armed big, my gat's enormous
You're armed small: tyrannosaurus
Just to be clear: the size of my weapon is heinous
Gun so massive they mistake it for my penis

The ladies love my sound and flair
Birds flocking round my column like Trafalgar Square
Grind so hard I'm rapping to my limits
Work intense like a manager of Millets
Don't try your luck on me
I'm fly and phat: duck confit
For sick lyircs I've got a hard-on
Dope on the track: Lance Armstrong
Big on TikTok: no horologist
Taking the piss: no urologist
Serve you fast: no Boris Becker
Make shit pop: no Dr Pepper
Flow so drastic into position
Loco mad shit twistin' the rhythm
Solo ratchet this is my vision
Go go gadget: sick lyricism

These rappers so boring, I'm actually snoring
I'm laying it down like it's laminate flooring
You see I'm compellin', stop being a melon
I'm crushing this bridge like I'm Ian McKellen
Devour the rhythm like carrots and hummus
And feast on these rappers like salmon and couscous
The craziest dog, I be making them jog
And I put the OG into Jacob Rees-Mogg
And I'm drippin' in followers, sicker than cholera
Lyrics that's fitter than Philippa Forrester
This'll astonish ya, sisters I'm rockin' a
Dick that's so big it could pivot a gondola

Into the rhythm I've added a rest
(inhaling) for catching my breath
That is the way I get lyrically busy
I would do more but I feel a bit dizzy