GAMES WITHOUT FRONTIERS






Whistling tunes, we hid in the dunes,

while we free-styled by the seaside/

Whistling tunes we piss on the goons,

down in the jungle, drum pound rumble/

(verse 1)


Muthafuckas wanna battle, but can't believe it when I freestyle,

They run and tattle to the teacher like some weak child/

My words will beat you up & smack you down, meanwhile,

My brain is steady streaming lines that run about a sea mile/

Sticking victims since the day they let the beast wild,

Off the dome pro even when I'm old and senile/

Amusing clown, your bitch bewitched I switch to beguile,

And turn you cuck she starts to suck now watch me defile/

I run amok and doggy fuck her on her knees now,

You sit in the corner jerking your dick under a green towel/

It clearly isn't a secret you got them weak bowels,

The way you shit your pants every time I speak vowels/

Sick to your stomach, evident you reak of leaked bile,

Added to your ever growing heap of pissy jeans pile/

Still hating so you run-a-mouth with revile,

I'm shutting down your seeping jowls with rhyme sheet files/





Whistling tunes, we hid in the dunes,

while we free-styled by the seaside/

Whistling tunes we piss on the goons,

down in the jungle, drum pound rumble/




My brains happening, what's happening in my brain,

The same reaction that's got me rapping again/

I still play in the game, although the games been played,

I bet I'll lay in my grave before my name has been made/

Never shot for the stars, the stars never shot me,

Never stop because the bars forever got me/

Leave my obscure "fame" to live out long years,

Playing till' I'm dead in games without frontiers/





Whistling tunes, we hid in the dunes,

while we free-styled by the seaside/

Whistling tunes we piss on the goons,

down in the jungle, drum pound rumble/




(verse 3)

If looks could kill, they probably will,

Still getting sicker but I'm already ill/

Hero of the night, soar to new heights,

Still getting higher but I'm high as a kite/

Chasing gloom, in line with doom,

& still I'm embraced, by the tribes of the moon/

Murdering words, perverted with verbs,

Still the bodyguard for the geeks and the nerds/

Fuck the negativity, it's never getting me,

All these years later still about creativity/

The strain in my brain, the pain in my lane,

The same reaction that's got me rapping again/

Still not played, still getting betrayed,

I bet I'll lay in the grave before my name has been made/

No tears to give, I never gave out tears,


Playing till' I'm dead in games without frontiers/






Whistling tunes, we hid in the dunes,

while we free-styled by the seaside/

Whistling tunes we piss on the goons,

down in the jungle, drum pound rumble/