General Rubbish vs The Sportswear Mystics

General Rubbish gonna ride

Whether roasted or fried

Whether long or wide, let the bass be the guide

Roasted or fried

We're all looking for the bly an' a tryna stay alive

Whether roasted or fried

See a scooter by their side

Vaping as they glide

Early morning ride like Bonnie and Clyde

Did they come in with the tide?

High on their supply, no number, can't comply

Well I ain't gonna lie like Bonnie and Clyde

Well I ain't gonna lie

Shabaka improvise, he cut a stick to his size

50 keep the sun off, if it's applied

The dodo has died, let your body be the guide

Have they got your size, make sure it's not snide

Well I ain't gonna lie

Ask Bonnie and Clyde

Solomon was wise, so' say he never hide

But didn't have a shed, application denied

Don't let money be the prize, cut 'em all to size

Extra serve a' fries but we gotta break ties

As I can't stand flies

Roasted or fried

Roasted or fried

I said, I can't stand flies

Sound is up, the bass will fall

Don't put your back against the wall

Wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

General Rubbish

There ain't no Generals here

No dons, no cons, no air fryers, everything must go

Close it down, close it up

It's all the same to me

Mornings are all coffee, the days are mostly free

I'm a eighties lyric, floating in the snare

Version of a version, of a time that had a tear

So rare we glimpsed the future, soon there was a bear

But this one ain't that one, maybe you don't care

'Cause meanwhile in the kitchen

Here come the sportswear mystics

Balance out your top end, yam down all the biscuits

Logistics, they got their ways and means

But it's all about the hot wash and the arse slung jeans

Sound is up, the bass will fall

Don't put your back against the wall

Sound is up, the bass will fall

Don't put your back against the wall

I'm from a faith long forgotten

Don't let yourself get rotten

We're in with the tide, to keep the vibe alive

Four and twenty birds, all in their pies

Pure beak and feather, what happened to the weather

Roasted or fried

Well we come in on the tide

Roasted or fried

We come in on the tide

Well we come in on the tide

Roasted or fried

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves

Flap their wings like doves