The Platoon

[Verse 1: Bil Next]
We get it cracking, with a healthy dose of what you’re lacking
Heavy shit, he tried to lift my style and done your back in
Full attacking, Came close over the yapping
Little Jack Russell spitters, rip them up like paper wrapping
Chain reaction, take out the first one
Then watch the others brick and then start acting like they came for chatting
Been a 100 so I may be slacking
But I’m back upon the straight and narrow
Put in work to make it happen

[Verse 2: Res One]
I don’t battle rap
I battle rappers with a bag of wax
Bringing the bangers and set the standards at
How you couldn’t stand the catch (?)
Spitting for the spine attack (?)
Mad mash, designer brass, I’m fine got no time to chat (?)
Gotta move, gotta make moves and mind the gaps
Mind your chat, you might end up like Michael if you wind your chat
Lipsticks, your dribbling ace based on why you rap (?)
Tie your trap or try to find your death (?)
You’re not confined to that

[Verse 3: Blanka]
A mash mechanic, never panic when getting things to work
As we drop it hot like tapping hash rocks and it flips and burns
The world goes though so religion seems a bit absurd
I’ll finish in a hearse so why the fuck would I sing hymns in church
Eating tins of worms, with herbs and some goose eggs
Fuck fruit, I sip juice that looks more purple than bruised flesh
Spit tight like noose necks and split tights with two skets
Don’t do bets, dumber than a fist fight with booze breath

[Verse 4: Two Tungs]
It’s dubious the way that we manoeuvring
We ain't new to this and getting slewed is nothing new to dem
I can be a nice guy or a cunt, depending on the mood I’m in
But most times I’m a fucking hooligan
These rappers love me, they tried to copy
So I ain't sorry about what I’ve gotta do to ‘em
Honestly, fuck an apology
These wannabes bother me
Need to properly study the methodology
Before they try to get to where we got to be
These little bastards need to try a little harder
Me sharpen up my razors til they’re sharper than a barbers
Darth Vader, I’m your father

[Verse 5: Flying Monk]
Yo, check it
Its (…?) flying high with the bars I spit
I take energy from the moon and stars and then I harness it
You can find me on some karma tip sat back (….?)
Like allow all the name games, I don’t wanna part in it
Pardon me, I’m a target pricks
With a load of this lava spit
I’m laughing at your party tricks
Partly because your bars are shit
Hardy-har my harvest is eight straight and demolish scripts (?)
I’m on this shit, like an opportunist I’m an optimist

[Verse 6: Paro]
I’m still deep under the influence
That mad doctor using verses like surgical instruments
I drop it like lacerated ligaments
My deliverance is known to cause mental disfigurements
And triggers many straight happenings and unexplainable incidents
Spontaneous combustion is just a product of my diligence
That shits no coincidence that Split Prophets militant
Relentless using beats as my stimulants

[Verse 7: Upfront]
Unsettle rappers when I speak phrases
The lean strange kid (?)
I hold it down better than ever and never seek status
Fuck being famous, it’s not about that
I make music for other reasons and seeing pounds stack
Heavy when I’m out tracks
Leave clowns flat, you’ll get eaten when I open my mouth
‘Cause my sounds fat
How’s that, like a ball with no air in I doubt you’ll bounce back
Pronounced dead at the scene like a drowned rat

[Verse 8: Datkid]
Yo It’s Brissy nitty City where my gang commutes
In the jungle dodging obstacles like Crash Bandicoot
Buss a show, bang the loot
Spend it on smoking up a strange new brand of fruit
Exhale through the gappy tooth
It’s Matty who looking sketchy there, with an edgy stare
‘Bout to get the Blains blowing everywhere
Fucking tank, puffing dank
Until the bouncers drag me out because it stank
I go out and catch the clap whilst you buss a wank