chester p – the bitches lyrics
this is real and i ain’t nothing like a movie star
i was robbing when you run around for qpr
and now you’re coming out your sh-ll and tryna tell me suttin
i was spittin, they was snipping at your belly b-tton
acting gully, making noise like a smoke alarm
on a stage, slap your face ’til i broke my arm
getting big for your boots ’cause your grammar’s heavy
why you stepping when you told me you’re a fan already?
now you’re dissin all my fam and all aof canonbury
little f-ssy, put you in your pram with teddies
i was doing burglaries when you ran in wellies
and blowing bubbles in a party that had brang in jellies
blud you need to disappear like you was makaveli
bring your cannon to the ‘bury like you’re bad and heavy
big mistake to say my whole fam are fayries
you made my manor scary ’cause my fam are now your adversaries
all these brown heads are madder than a gang of yetis
jab a needle in your neck just for a bag of pennies
i’m interplanetary, london is my city though
raised in the ‘bury but my second home is pimlico
i run in battersea and camberwell you little ho
never would i diss the south side of the river bro’
i got fans from paris to slovakia, jerusalem, australia
you’re feeling like a failure
instead of railing up, go and put some records out
i’ll leave your head without a neck before i’m stepping down
you and your pipe spend nights with the reaper innit
it’s deeper, innit blud, robbing for the fever clinic
i heard you robbed your own friend (chemo) and left his flat converted
he went away, you sold his studio to “crack converters”
and that’s a man who helped you out and would’ve backed your purpose
that’s the place of no return until you scratched the surface
all this talk about crime—i’m a criminal
way before your time, making me original
making you a duplicate
f-cking with the nucleus!
i been in the game since mickey’s sold root beers
now you’re running round and calling on a wild one
calling out my tunes when it’s me you got your styles from
you dutty scallywag, smelling like a f-nny rag
calling out my name like a backpacking anorak
talking sh-t about he’s gunnin’ and he’s fightin’
and he’s running with his knife ting and they run him out of brighton
blud! i’m gutter, there ain’t nothing here that’s middle cl-ss
none of us are chi-chi, and you’re watching man a little hard
a little vision now you’re thinking that you’re living large
never make the king, the most you’ll be is just the kid in charge
and i’m the father figure, blud
you should’ve figured hard
bring the bigger bars
the bigger bars they leave the bigger scars
and in battle scars, you was in my sp-ce quick
blud your halitosis nearly gave a man a face lift
your insecurity led to speculation
if i cussed you and your sides on some far-away occasion
i never dissed the man, that’s no elaboration
he told me he’s a fan and ‘can we do collaborations?’
i was sitting there with my mind on some better things
then i get a ring and i hear the final evidence
here we go again, the trials of a veteran
you can bring your dogs blud, i’ll set a f-cking vet on them!
and careful how you talk, ’cause you never know
any man can come and put a bug up in your telephone…
[outro, phonecall between chester p & wordsmith]
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