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Google can f**k off and so can The Distracted
Our beats are fire and your beats are wack-sh*t
See, mate, the reason our bars are so lit
Is because through all the sh*t, we f**king EQ'd it
You spit bars like you're all the bad t'ings
Music Man, you do all the rapping
But your beat was sh*t, let me tell you the sad thing
Your track had length 'cause of chorus padding
You're just a bunch of geeks in a flat
Your production quality was crap
Step against us, claiming we black
But we literally just made a White track
So, mate, before I go back and backtrack
Let me spit lyrics against all the bad lads
On the next diss, still doing great
Mate, still can't tell who the f**k Kes dates
Should've given up on the last one, mates
When I ironically called you great
You rush your songs and you can't make tunes
See, we thought all of our bars through
Good contender, you made it to two
But, next time, we'll come out of the blue
Here's some pointers, the next time you rush
Want to make a track but your rhymes are mush
We on a diss track and we tell you to shush
'Cause who the f**k calls an album, Hush?
Mate, your bars always sound wrong
Do you even know how to write a song?
Do you even know that you look like mongs?
The answer was Turkey, all along
Lyrically, I put myself as a rapist
Musically, it's a big-boy statement
Mate, your music is always the greatest
The greatest load of sh*te

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