These Same Mc's, Moulded Clay

You look stupid in videos on phones at the start, it doesn't make you look badmans calling women a tart, when I see those skits I think what a retard, and don't you know we all skip over that part, and I don't rap with accents, like tings and blud innit, recycling scrap lyrics while some chipmunk sings it, we're from the same place but our accents don't match, when you talk fake like that there's a psychology attached. I will state I'm not like you and your mates, wannabe celebrities, denied by your exact same traits, an institutional mould shaped you all like clay, I'm an individual just saying what I say, I'm different, so original, you all sound the same way. You make songs and sounds like the ones you've heard sung, thinking that's the way to get you to number one, you dream of the scenes, I just do this for the fun. You create this gangsta image, now that's just daft, making out you're BAD when you come from Bath, other cities should know that we also laugh. Songs and rhymes come from those that are creative, and it's not that you haven't been noticed, it's that you are rightfully poorly rated, this image MC's invent can't be related, all the same, like cheese in a pile grated. You're idolising the stories of the legends and icons, and then writing your boring life into your songs. 2Pac started with a story and Eminem did Stan, questions of their life came as a result of the demand, no one cares until they start asking who you are, so don't start off writing that bore into bars. You put more into having sick clothes and fat cars, while your rhymes sit thin, anorexic and starved, you all rap about the same thing, rewording the verse, it gets you all no where, that's as far as it deserves. I aint like that, I'm myself, an individual, I've learnt that that makes me a one off and somewhat original, you're just another MC living life unlawful, telling us about it in rhymes that are awful, it's not a story that anyone called for, we don't care, you're no one, just shut up and act normal. Wearing your new clothes like it's product placement, while your music sits unused in a box in the basement, those lyrics you spit sayin you're a fighter, they're fooling no one, we all know you sit desperate to be a writer. Do you know why those you grew up with rate you, 'cus they want a famous friend and think it'll be you, but when they see like me that you're on a dead end, you'll discover who is true, just you, and you're fake so you wont even know you.