DEFENDER'S RAP

• Watch this fool falling as I poorly sing
• The sound is sort of shit, no ornament
• But sorry, you can’t ignore me kids
• Cos I’ll show you what a true sonnet is
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• My loving brother said don’t try to rap
• So I’m fighting back, writing tracks
• Refining each line that’s crap, tighten that
• If KSI can rap then I’ll give it my best try and grab
• Hold of a mic, he did it in a lot less time
• Yes I write in silence, I test my texts and check lines
• Flex my pen, write in the dead night
• You ca-ca can’t see me, so flip on the headlights
• On his La-la Lamborghini, taking it for a test drive
• Yeah Tom you’re just a jealous dreamy piece of shit
• You can’t even sing, you’re a reckless teeny weeny kid
• I can rap sick and sing singsongs – give me some followers
• I’ll do back flips all over this with a few loyalists
• Then let me wallow in my own sorrow as I spoil this
• Give me till tomorrow to swallow the bitter pill
• I can’t rest on my laurels – just show you my inner skill.
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• So lyrical with the syllables, but my voice is woefully pitiful
• The listeners do not listen to it at all
• They just want the rhythms and sound systems to sound good
• Just shout “POW” on any album you’re given
• Quicken it up a bit, no slipping, and they won’t know the difference
• When you’re spitting they’ll say your flow’s the sickest
• Even though my mother called me bad singer
• And I crack mirrors, so I opened to the rap music
• Hey that’s singing and I’ve got the damn lyrics
• It’s a wrap init, now let’s put this posh chap in this
• Gosh, crap, it’s like I can mix it from posh to chav in a minute
• A chav being a chap, now that’s going off on a tangent, so bring it
• Back to the chat that we’re yapping about
• It’s just when I sing, I spurt the most haphazard random of sounds
• So I’m rambling now, rapping’s what I’m slamming down
• I guess I found a talent for my verbally challenged mouth
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• My fan base isn’t massive, I need a campaign for the masses
• I’m not in this rap game nor gigantic, but quite frantic
• My hand writes manically, quil’s pounding the paper
• At the same time static, i doubt what I say is
• Right, cos I don’t have this singer’s sound by nature
• I am a clown a pain in the arse, though not a coward failure
• So save your frowns for later, but I welcome a sour hater
• Keep going, around the pain, spout my rage
• Till a crowd can gauge what I’m on about and say
• Howdy mate, that sounded great, so I feel proud and crave
• Every grain of attention, any praise that’s mentioned
• Gives me better gains – all kinds of gains
• I hope Hodge Twins don’t think I’m a plagiarising fake
• Not pasting lines, just play at writing when I make a rhyme
• It’s a shame I find I can’t sing even if I’m training right
• so my brain is like, hey just let me take the mic.