tremone – fundamentals lyrics
[verse 1: trem]
now, when i switch the ignition on, and slip the transmission
into first, flows burst from this rap, and like, bog down
a cr+p in the morning after a big night on the grog
and my style sticks out like my d+ck in speedo swimming togs
you give the dogs a bark, i give that p+ssy the purrs
but say that i got [??] for sunny and shirt
that whole love serenade’s played and worn
i’d rather get laid by some french maid who’s into p+rnographics
stoppin’ more than traffic with my rap sh+t
the crowd gets so ecstatic, they had handstands and back flips
and i mack chicks at the strips with my man rob
while you scan dodgy lanes for [?] hand+jobs
fans bop ’cause it doesn’t take long when trem’s on
for word to spread around like mama’s makin’ kantong
and tampons can’t stand my flow when i rant on
i’ve f+cked more stunts than hand plants done on ramp wrong
they can’t keep their pants on when i stand on the platform
rippin’ mics and man, that’s the raw sh+t!
i’m bored with seein’ more d+ckheads spit than p+rn fl!ck horse lips
and force kids to [?] awards
with mic chords if they’re basic fundamentals lack
you say you’ve paid your dues?
that’s all theory, i’m here to see the prac’
and my raps hit ya harder than smack from inner city penny parlours
you’re soft like a koala in the gala
event of the year will see my name headin’ the bill
’cause i attract more crowds than a pub with free refills
so [???????]
’cause my style’s fat as f+ck, and yours even even chubby
pass the stubbie so i can finish off gettin’ p+ssed
shouts to [?], the formulators, little chris
now braddles, if you like to hit the spliffs, beers, tins and skins
“grab the mic, plug it in and begin”
[verse 2: brad strut]
hey trem, let me drop ’em a gem
my rhyme stems from worn out pens and ends
and it all depends whens
let me lend ya a verse and i’ll slur, words are perf’
first i emerged from the rubble, i’m subtle, my stubble hurt worse
ya muddled your verbs, jerks, up and down like a crossword
i rock slurred work ’cause i got [?] skirt
at the foot of my bed, better believe what i said
check the microphone [?] blessin’, not takin’ no head rest (ah!)
my composition leaves mc’s blurred vision
and inexperienced, ya hearin’ this, listen, don’t look so serious
numb tongue, ya can’t even rhyme one
i stun sons and daughters and slaughter dumb punks
pardon the pun, c+nts!
punch+drunk and debunked, or derelict and deranged
you’re electrically charged for the symmetrical spark in my brain
hard to obtain, my claim to fame is to write trains
and flip phrases in ways that left my elders with growing pains
no showin’ shame, throw a flame, furious clips will leave ya sick
a lyricist, caressin’ their crucifixes
i’m melbourne stormin’, you’re left in to swim with michael klim
while my vocals swarm, tearin’ at your limbs
limit the trends, timid and slim, you won’t win so just hush, kid
and trust, strut’ll bust and plast’ his lung bustin’
huff and puff all you want, it’s a lyrical assault
pulp pretenders in blenders and send ’em to heaven in bulk
cold, the hard fact’s is your tone controls crack and crumble
mumblin’, doublin’ [???] and humble
’nuff said, brad strut, trem, honestly
they’re tryin’ to peep our rhyme techniques technology
traps and terminates, crushes vertebrae
words i say deserve the praise, observe the page, just the vinyl flavs
your spirit’s slayed, appearin’ in a clearance from the zone
they call me brad, i write poems and flow ’em through microphones
[hook]
isn’t it funny how these cats lack the basics?
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