Don't Make Me - Lee Scott

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do

Don’t judge a book by it’s dumb words

Or fuck with the half Scouse, half wool lirds

Sunny Boyz cold get dumb and cull nerds

And boast about robbing the post office to pull birds

I don’t give a fraction of an ounce of a fuck

It’s an accident I’m on this planet like Howard the Duck

And playing me is the last option of Draughts boxin'

I’ll make you cry while your Dads watchin'

Pop a chill pill, still flip and kill the fly on the wall

I liked you better when I didn’t like you at all

Give me a sleazy hotel room to breathe

I drop an uplifting hell tune and leave

Before I start the rant that never ends

Altruistic, towards me imaginary friends

The Nafco 54 clique are raw

I’ll make you wish you had your foot in a different door

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do

Do I keep sonning rappers cause I’m dad-less?

I raised me eyebrows as a couple of crooked bastards

Looking down on mother earth eating barbecued Wookie ribs

Like it’s my world lad fuck your dibs

I’m the man if you’re missing an idol

God’s speed, sniffing wiz off a bible

I use an unsold album as a beer mat

Drown me sorrows and hold me gangster tears back

Cause I want a castle with guard dogs and a moat

And I’m choked with a poisoned dart frog in me throat

But there’s still hope, this is rap and it’s big biz

And I’m keeping «it» real but don’t ask me what «it» is

Rappers these days are a bunch of Hyacinth Bucket’s

But don’t worry they’re just going through a phase

While Mr. Wrong’s pissing in your bong changed

Hungarian suicide song on, whistling along

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do

I don’t want to have to, but I will

Trip, crush and kill the mood

Like it’s sound to do, this goes out to you

Don’t make me do what I’m about to do