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A rap track harking back to the golden age of rap back when no one 'talked over the music' about being shot 9 times (here's hoping for the 10th). Broadcast Rap (whoo) I can't rap 'cos I'm white not black, I ain't got rhythm man I'm just whack, But I'm gonna do this anyway, 'Cos I'm bored at home and Kieran's gay, We play scrabble to pass the time, But I can't spell I can only rhyme, I'm in Leicester I do Broadcast Tech, But at night it's the mike I wreck. Yeah, I'll probably see you round, It's the Final Countdown. I'm rapping, I'm catflap zapping, It's crap, thats how it's shapping, Shaping is what I meant, But I didn't say it cos it didn't rhyme, You're mum called, she says you're bent, Some bloke said your ass is for rent, It's sick sick sick sick sick, Oh, I ran out of lyrics. Even so this is the new sound Yeah, It's the Final Countdown I've got long hair, I know it's not cool, But it's much better than looking like you, With your small f-f-f-face and you're big nose, It's not your fault thats how it grows, You stink too, did I mention that, And, oh yeah, your girlfriends fat, Damn straight, she's a hell of a weight, Was she that big on the first date? Theres hope though, you still might drown It's the Final Countdown (Whoo) |
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