The Nosebleed Section lyrics

Verse One - Suffa
This is for the heads thats loving the mix,
My people in the front, all covered in spit,
Batters in the box, Suffa to pitch,
Hilltop Hoods, all up in this bitch,
And we the funk leaders, punks you cant beat us,
We bump and pump meters, we drunk you chumps need us,
So jump with us, down in the front if its,
Your flavour, come get drunk with us,
This life turned out nothing like
I had planned, why not?
By now I shouldve had some land,
Some money in my hand, round about fifty grand,
But I got nothing, I write rhymes on the bus,
I keep suffering; fuck the lines of the dust,
You keep sniffing, that shit is for the punk hoes,
This shit is for my bros, my people in the front row.

Verse Two - Suffa
I got hip-hop taste buds,
I wanna hear that bass when I make love,
I wanna hear some lyrics when I wake up,
Write rhymes to get me through a break up, bitch!
Rough like whisky straight, no chaser,
Went through fifty breaks, no flavour,
Till I found this one, and made the,
Bass hook with the drum, my saviour,
This is the comeback, tongue thats sharp like a thumbtack,
Its so tight James is saying give my funk back,
One track, eight track, a-dat, residual
Noise, man fuck that, we clean with the digital,
Toys Im the Apache, youre failing to match me,
Throw your hands in the air like youre hailing a taxi,
And move to the funk flow, you stepping? Are you drunk bro?
This is for my peeps and the freaks in the front row.

Verse Three - Suffa
People dont complain if Suffas in here,
And youre in the front row, all covered in beer,
And club owners dont say the place is wrecked its your fault,
If the roof is on fire its an electrical fault,
Man I bet you all bolt, when I bring it live
Like Friday night footy, in my hoody can hide I,
Gets live on the breaks son, like pace one,
Lads, if youre heading to the bar grab your mates one,
Ladies come chill, come rock with me honey,
I got like half a mill in monopoly money,
Theres no stopping me honey, so you can take my hand,
We can lay on the beach and count grains of sand,
Or take a plane to Japan, and drink saki with mafia,
Fly to Libya for some Bacardi with Gadafi a
Dinner date, followed by a funk show,
Well rip off our tops and jump around in the front row.