There He is - Dabbla

Yeah

3am I pour Henny

Lucky if I’m in bed for 4:20

It’s that feeling of not knowing

What’s keeping me going

Pinging around in the living room

Spilling your penny

My wives have got their knots tied

In a room full of balloon animals

Filled with nitrous oxide

That and lots of fucking fire dashed in the spotlights

The reason I’m not surprised they’re all boss-eyed and they’re lopsided

First place in the exaggerateathon

Half a dozen days later screaming «where the paper gone?»

(Where the paper gone?)

Took the pills without the label on

What a waste, kill it

Get the KC and the chaser on

Smear your brains inside these waves I’m cooking

Shit’ll have your eyeballs wondering which fucking way they’re looking

Put him in a cold metallic can and shook him

Nowadays you’re lucky if I take a booking

There he goes

All up in your bitch’s cleavage like a speedy boat

The bass hits and the thesis is a need to know

He’s on top of the world screaming «Bellissimo»

Standing in the field but the festival finished weeks ago

Still determined to get my shower on

Can’t think of nothing better to earn £1000 an hour from

It’s Dabbla in the motherfucking house without the power on

Boy

I’ll give you something to fucking talk about

What are you, some sort of behavioural expert?

Mistaking me for all my favourite excerpts (There he is)

There he is (There he is)

I’m not complaining

As long as my brain, my lungs, my dick, arms and my legs work

What are you, some kind of moody professional?

(You what?)

Chewing some shit that’s mildly digestible (What is that?)

I’m not complaining or straining, moaning or whining or whinging

My foot is finally in, you’re highly susceptible

With the lights off and his feet up

Getting right off of his peanut

Could’ve sworn his whole life’s been a write-off getting lean up

At least all of my rhymes drop when the beat’s cut

And at least I’m not

Rambling to Jesus

From the magnificent league of champion achievers

How my people bring this shit to your borders

Stamping your visas

Speaking Vietnamese better than these Vietmanese geezers now

Now

Now he’s deep in it and feverish

Plus all of my peoples is mad geezerish

Could’ve had the same but your family lacked leadership

Each three minute track’s a piece of my genius

(What else?)

Plus my penis is prehensile and tedious

And happy to deal with all the immediates

I rap about the shit that I feel

It’s real but it’s meaningless still (still)

Disagreeing and disobedient (Nah I’m not)

What are you, some sort of behavioural expert?

Mistaking me for all my favourite excerpts (There he is)

There he is (There he is)

I’m not complaining

As long as my brain, my lungs, my dick, arms and my legs work

What are you, some kind of moody professional?

(You sure?)

Chewing some shit that’s mildly digestible (What is that?)

I’m not complaining or straining, moaning or whining or whinging

My foot is finally in, you’re highly susceptible