Pinky Ring - No More Parties In Sydney Lyrics

No more parties in Sydney but there's a party going down in Parramatta Street
157 corner of alison the southside, you can't drop the names of rappers without mine
I stopped doing music to focus on myself, but I realise I'm too too far from help
The microphone's off the shelf, dust off the pad and pen
Renounce religion sucker punch your reverend
Put an end to your friends who want to pretend or send you false hope like the Pope or Buddha
Smash your computer, throw your phone in the trash, can't look to the future when you're
Living in the past
At last, here's a rapper making sense, I'm the future and I'm living intense
I'm not against you but if you're against me you'll feel what it's like to be crushed
By a KE70, storms on the weather G, cut like ketamine and stings like betadine
Heavy D in your girls V in 3D, can't see me like Johnny Cena
Black like Serena or white like Miley
I beat the pussy up and leave the hooker smiling
Styling with ease straight steez I blaze beats you're a tragedy I'm an A, you're a Bee Gee
I got a feeling your head'll hit the ceiling if I uppercut ya so f*ck ya

They said listen in school if you wanna get your grades up
But I was up the back throwing paper planes at fake cunts
Cruisin with the wrong shoes on stop what did I do wrong
Here's my uniform pass bitch so move on
I'm late for art class and after that I can't last so you may as well fly the flag at half mast
This bullshit school shit's got my patience thinner
I'm heading out to see more like my name was Skinner
A straight sinner when it comes to your sister, the rap blitzer, my flow cuts like a whipper snipper
Viggity ving ving ving, the blade spins and it pierces your skin
Throw your rhyme book in the bin
Your f*cking glue store flows as cool as gay porn bro
And I'm raw though, talking to weak cunts in Morse code
Don't just hear my beats turn em up listen to it
Poetry, spittin fluent, more than a hundred influences
Big L to Bowie, from Trem to the Fugees
Bud lifts me up and these caps keep me moving
If you got joints, I'll say I only smoke stoinkers
I find smokers spliffs complete and utterly pointless
Unless I'm down the beach with a chick getting freaky
Her cleavage and her box gap it's giving me a teepee
In my footy shorts I should have brought another pair to wear
I rubbed it out swiftly and left it in her hair
And left the bitch on the beach with her skin cells in trauma I'm raw bra

Ah, please, no more parties in Sydney
Please baby no more parties in Sydney
Please, no more parties in Sydney
Please baby no more parties in Sydney, please