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The certified have arrived, extraordinaire extravagant |
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Beers like confidence, man I'm drinkin' until I'm arrogant |
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Cause I'm a cocky fuck, Hit your girl and I knock her up |
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Girly what the fuck? In the net like a hockey puck. (score!) |
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Rappers get embarrassed when they see the way that we work |
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They try hard to (sherm) like fat guys swimming in T-shirts |
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Research your Oz hip-hop, before you step to us |
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And if you step, hands around your throat like a necklace |
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Missed the drum, young ladies gimme a call |
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My number's written next to Fuckwit on the Chicks bathroom wall |
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I'm slightly easy and a try bit sleazy |
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With the wit of a red brick and chiselled body of Kim Beazley |
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My theory is, never touch the mic quite serious |
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A kid goes out on dates later than their next period |
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My crews got it made, rockin the place |
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With more dope rappers to match every branch here to colonnade |
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It's Certified Wise, no need to tell you again |
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Because these cunts can be so funky that the smell would offend |
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A dyke's girlfriend dog, now lets get straight to the point shall we |
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This rowdy crowd of MC's and DJ's know how to pound beats |
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Like kids with flat feet and crap beats walking down backstreets |
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So much work went into this to line the notes of fact sheets |
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Like black sheep I've got two words for those who slept |
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(nya, Nya nya nyoooo) |
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You thought it was safe, well guess what (what?) |
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Boys then beware; my friends will find your weak points (then what) |
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Get up in there. |
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Attack your mind, with a fine rhyme when I find time |
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And I'll find out that you're walking if you're talking the grape vine |
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I'll waste time. Need to take on the job at hand. |
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The skills for this profession typical certified wise man |
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From Sky to land, I'm overcoming all your schemes and plans |
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So take cover as I rain thunder upon you man |
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Every songs a collection of kids charmed lives |
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Like the porn section of gary glitters hard drive |
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Certified Wise throws a jam thats so hot it'd |
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Make a married man give up his annual blowjob |
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You better show somethin, with headin no bluffin |
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On the wrong side of my tracks, I'll smash your petticoat junction |
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In a suffering city, I'm punishing the pretty |
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And if you dont fucking feel me I'll crush you without pity |
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I arrange certain words amongst silence |
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To be heard in abundance while MCs face redundance |
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Stereo speakers exceed beyond specifications |
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Through extended noise generation |
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Let's cut the conversation to a small chat (why's that?) |
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I'm busy trying to react to the hi-hat |
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Blockade and certified stand tall above ridiculous under-achievers |
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And constant non-believers |
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I'm on stage with a handful of panadols handin them out |
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Cos of the head throbbin from the head noddin |
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And we about puttin you out for the count like mic check, |
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You aint gonna get certified respect |
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So hide your decks, ya mics I might blackout |
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In a cypher when I still take the title |
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The name's Sesta, I snatch an L plate and slap it on your forehead |
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With more force than pornsex |
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--unfinished-- |
