Part Deux - Cult of The Damned, Lee Scott, Black Josh

Do you know which direction to to take at the intersection

Do you know which direction to to take at the intersection

Do you under stand which direction to try and take at the intersection

Can you even understand which direction is necessary to take at the intersection

Fire in my eyes like i’ve seen hell

I might walk in your house

And spit on your couch

But I mean well

I sit with a pretty beach belle

And listen to the shit

Rushing through the sewer

In a sea shell

Try your luck or do it by the book

I’m at the crash site of a flying fuck

Middle fingers up like they’re stuck

Until i’m sipping my White Lightening

From a fine china cup

It’s like you can’t even predict the gun i’ve been here

Seasons change i’ve been clear

Forecast here is swimwear

All year

In around

I’ve been around

And i’ve been there

But i’m still here

And i still disappear into thin air

At the drop of a hat

Or the click of a finger

I can promise you that

Or your money back

Funny how I navigate the streets of London now

With an ease

The likes of which my enemies would never see me coming

And I’ve been the gun and

Way before Steven Segal was under seige

I can see the sequel, the second coming

Yeah it’s Mr. Burt Bacharach of ribs

Back attackin' kids

Sufferin' suckertash I put the pussy in bandages

Activist activist, Anakin with the savagin'

Darth Vader your champion

F' your ma' while i’m dabbing' diz (mate)

Ugh, I’m billing spliffs while I’m bashin' sniff

I’ve came a long way since Biff and Chip

Ugh, heroin on my fingertips

I put it on your bitches lips

Bell us if you need a hit (EYARR)

Black Josh the beligerant

So fuckin' ignorant

I’m a scally, i’m a chav

I’m a hoodlum, I’m a lad

With a bag thats filled with piff

I was a young prat

That robbed those cats

That love yats' rides on a niggas dick

You’re thinking you’re road man

Me I’m on a cold sag at your missus' crib

Air max on your sofa

Rags i’m a stoner

Splabs of the doja

Tappin' ash onto your bitch’s tits

Last year I was broke but

Slummy bathing in your change

Now the home team chantin' yes fam

The CoDees more like (Save that)

Sending niggas right back

I’m Bellerin on the raider hood

Your missus got that brains

And now we keep her in the base jar

Flying over heads

Like when J man done got me waved off

These big batty bitches got me blowing the anus

Momma watch me mouth out of my face

I’m still that scummy fucking nuiscance

In that camp of crazy a-holes

I think my brains lying to my mind

Either that

Or you’ve got your finger in my pie yo'

But I just want to let you know

Have you thinking its my bitch to your setup ho'

Now I can take a shit where you live

Cos you had her in the crib

Taking pics with the kids (like?)

(Pause)

You don’t wanna see Bisk with a biff

Masochist and a schizo

Chattin' shit to my kin-folk

Smash a brick through your window

Your nasty bitch is a nympho (ha)

Blastin' it in her pin hole

Roll on squares

Go to work with your splab and a signal

Afro comb is a pitch fork

Vagabond

My blackburn stomp that is a crip walk

What is that?

he’s never cocked a gat

He’s only popping' caps when he’s cracking' a vimto

I’m driving smashed and jackin' banks like Rip Torn

Blastin' pigs and crashin' whips into brick walls

Tell your bitch the King called

Watch your rain transform to a shit storm

Gone insane, rotten brain from chongin' weight

Shouts to JSA for proving that doing nothing pays

I got a lot of names

Job today gone tomorrow

Whats an honest wage?

Yo

The one and only but i’m still a phoney (who?)

Kill you slowly like a filtered rollie (ha)

Closest homies still don’t know me (ugh)

Break in your crib and steal your groceries

All I do all day is smoke cheese

Then proceed to sniff coke till my nose bleeds

Overdosin' on Old E

Roll trees

Creating smoke screens, false hopes and broke dreams

Big up the crushed

Ritalin, creatine and coke team

I want a low key

On the pole clean

Prole queen

She asked me who the fuck is Jolene

Smoothed it up like —

«don't worry 'bout that»

Your crews a bunch actin' sound rats

Fakest steeze, chasin' cheese in the mouse traps

S ain’t about that

Im in the house like where your spouse at?

Those gutter, butter flows I announce that

With undertones

Covered though

Your mother knows

I end ya with the super eagle that murders souls with my mansion

Thoughts from a dark web of lyrics

With flows of arsenic and ricin

Mustard gas blast when he chat broke on a search engine

Fuck you if i’m offendin' all you frauds that are pretendin' (blah)

Army coat rags from the depths of the skittin worthless

Choke your brain with violence

Silence those who try and scratch the surface

Socially, your arse is where your face is trading places

I’m faking legless

On a self made trolley

And hustle spaces

Do you know which direction to to take at the intersection

Do you know which direction to to take at the intersection

Do you under stand which direction to try and take at the intersection

Can you even understand which direction is necessary to take at the intersection