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Whatever happened to rappin from the backyard,
Every time you see rap stars they're in fat cars
But we're at the other end of the spectrum,
So we disrespect 'em and kick 'em in the rectum,
Get a vivisection at the hospital (Get ya kit off)
And I bet thet're soft in the middle,
Talk a lotta shit and it's just to fit a mould,
Stepping to the mic and represent no soul,
Butterfingers bring it to ya raw,
Ugly as ya mother and hard to the core,
Like nards under floorboards that's how I spit,
With the hectic septic underground shit,
Eclectically equipped epileptically I flip,
Between genres, Butterfingers, Drop the bomb on ya's,
Coming ominous like it was a monsoon,
Banging like onomatopoeia goes Boom

Butterfingers

A lot of Hip hops a rip off but I'm a fucking chip off,
The old block and don't tote a gold clock,
And dunno how the fuck a mouth chocked full of diamonds,
Helps with developing lyrics when ya rhyming,
The conundrum is none of it relates,
To me or to you or to any of your mates,
And I bet at this rate heads are getting bored of it,
Specially when the whole regiment's fraudulent,
Corny ornaments don't mean a thing but,
Dingalings get their bling bling written in wing dings,
Thinking it's the in thing but you know it's only,
A phoney persona for the one trick pony,
If its factual rap is demographical,
This is river city and the accent's natural,
Forget collateral we're in it for the sport,
And wanna thank the audience for all of their support,
We step onto the court specifically to wreck it,
Punk rock ethic but funky copasetic and,
Poetically a headache to the critics and the censors,
Go to hell and then tell em who sent ya's,

Butterfingers

Life is a prison, that's why I'm singing,
To stop the domination of the bland,
Air the dirty linen and give criticism,
Besetting them with reprimand,
With rhymes that I've written, fore times that we live in,
Aren't you glad someone understands?
It's the gift that keeps giving,
Sit back and listen give
Props to the motherfuckin band,

Record executives rig the chart so,
The current numbers ones can kiss my arse,
When we get a turn it'll be by earning it,
Because we represent the independant alternative,
Can't be urban its just not black enough,
Can't be contemporary, not wak enough
Can't be rock cause we flip to hip hop,
In our set (AH SHIT) where do we fit,
Nowhere I guess and I'm proud of that actually,
Blacklisted from every single category
Except for independent which ya can't dispute,
You think we signed away our rights that's kinda cute,
But I recite the truth no matter how obnoxious,
And we don't give a shit if we don't fit into ya boxes,
They should slot us into urban Aussie folklore,
When that'll be a category you know who to vote for.

Butterfingers
Perfect sound waves for home and workplace
Butterfingers
Weddings functions childrens birthdays
Butterfingers
Surround sound lounge rooms wireless headphones
Butterfingers
Over P.A's at clubs and car stereos