[Round 1: Eddie P and Frisko]
Alright, yo Matter, homie, you look like a crackhead Moby
And Lunar’s left earlobe is falling apart slowly
And you need to tell your mother not to phone me
Cause I swear, last time, that’s some dark shit she told me
His Mum’s left nip looks like a cleft lip
And his cider-swigging Dad looks like Rab C Nesbitt’s been
Dragged through a cesspit
And force-fed infected Nesquik until his head went septic
Your Mum can keep getting her bud on tick
Keep getting in more debt, but eventually I’ll bend her over
And fuck her up t’bum with t’courgette
And I don’t know who you think you’re murking
I’ll praise your Mum’s pussy open with a gherkin
And push it in ‘til it’s really fuckin’ hurting
Stand back, chuck glass and dirt in
And I’ll come over and squirt a bit of turps in
And on the subject of your Mum, will you take control?
I’m not surprised she’s scraping dole
She gave me bucks for a bacon roll and got left with t’gaping hole
[?]
Matter, you’ve got weak genetics
Everyone in your family is either going bald, going blind, or a straight-up diabetic
That have lost their lower limbs and walk around on prosthetics
Either eat fruit, eat veg, hit t’gym, or get healthier
Cause right about now brother, he’s looking like Tom Hanks
In the final scenes of The Streets of Philadelphia
You look like something out of Trainspotting that’s gone rotten
And then sucked the fart out of the bottom of Dot Cotton
Yo Matter, my styles are doing considerably sharper, mate
And I’m finding your monotone style really hard to rate
It’s making me wanna drag your face down through a lava lake
And laugh when your face starts melting apart at an alarming rate
And Lunar, it deserves a mention
You’ve got good lyrics, flows and projection
But you’ve got a bit of a LITHP, INNIT
And that’s like your Mum’s fanny, CRITHP, INNIT
And then I cheese-grated her flaps, served her over baps
And eat ‘em and relax, you’re gettin’ beaten and slapped ‘bout
[Round 1: Lunar C and Matter]
Alright yo, yo, yo
Gimme the drop to the grimy bass
Big up to the ravers inside the place
Hold on, what the fuck is this, 1998?!
Cause D’n’B hype been dead for years
So make noise for what comes next
Right now, we’re ending this drum and bass faggot’s dreams...
Dubstep!
You got a big ol’ chin and a bulbous nose that looks like a limp dick
With that hair colour and complexion you look like a lit spliff
Why the fuck do gingers smell like piss and biscuits?!
And stop saying you’re a badman, you know you aren’t
Them petty bars will not suffice! The best flip you ever had was...
“I know you are, you said you are, but what am I?”
You clueless, stupid, useless bastard
Loving getting goosed in cabbage
There’s no way you can manage
One day without watching Human Traffic
And saying shit like “Yo, it’s like they took our lives
And put it in front of movie cameras”
And you could handle the drugs in your heyday
But you look fucked now, Frisko
All that spunk and ecstasy has given you Comedown Syndrome
And you talk about drugs a lot
But this is where the fun’ll stop
Cause I’m not talking pills when I say
You two are getting double-dropped
Yo, Bowski! Bowski! When you battled this fag
And he was like “Giggity-goo, for a piggity-poo”
I thought he were taking the piss outta you
Till I went on YouTube, and checked out his tracks
And they sounded like “Dibbedy-dibbedy two!”
You tell little girls that your hair color is Moulin Rouge
And who are you? Do you just come out the
Woodwork when there’s a two-on-two?
You’re only out the house when you need a
Fresh tube of lube or a new spoon to use
And the rest of your time is spent cotching in the dark
Concocting shitty bars, cause Frisko keeps you
Locked up in the yard, and once a week
For a lovely treat, he takes you on a
Shopping trip to Spar for a copy of The Star
[Round 2: Eddie P and Frisko]
Yo, I’ll boot your Mum in the head with steel toe caps
For having nipples like coat-racks and a
Cheese-grated fanny with no flaps
And I’ll use a scalpel to surgically remove your Mum’s clit off
Don’t worry about her nipples, they’ve already been bit off
By two of my mates squatting over her face having a shit-off
And yo, Lunar, you’re on our vibe, you should come and join the A-Team
But Matter, you need to snap out of this Don’t Flop daydream
Get yourself back to Leeds where you cover your nipples in
Spray cream and hang around a [?] fuckin’ gay scene
I’ve been Leeds, everyone eats tinned peas
The houses are appalling! Matter don’t live in a gaffe
He lives in a hole in t’floor covered with a sheet of tarpaulin
Lunar, why’re you talkin’? Stop it!
I’ve heard you hang around takeaways
With your Stiltskin single and your own plastic fork in your pocket
Last night, he clocked his Mum with a punter in t’walk-in closet
He was like “Fuckin’ hell, Mum! Fix up, man! He’s a really dirty bloke!”
“I know he is, son, but times is hard, and dirty note is dirty note”
His Mum’s pussy, it really reeks
Plus she’s got a peg leg with a wheel that squeaks
[?] dreadlock, if it comes to deadlock
I’ma put your Gran in a headlock and force-feed her eggnog
And when Matter’s battling, he likes to get all deep and personal
Well, here’s something deep and personal:
You’re going bald and that shit ain’t reversible
Shine that bowling ball, you slap head!
Yo, Baldy, I don’t know you very well and I probably shouldn’t ask here
But after this, I’d love to rip your head in and wax it
And Lunar, I know I don’t know you
But if I knew a bird
Is it alright if one of the kids takes that thing out your ear
And just swings off your earlobe?
Ain’t my fault you’ve got titchy cocks
And your Mum and Dads can’t afford the Digibox
And I’ve heard that these guys are both infested with chickenpox
And have their [?] licking cocks
[Round 2: Lunar C and Matter]
You pussies wearing matching rings as a symbol of abstinence
And say “no hetero” when you mention minges by accident
When you took a vow of celibacy, your Mum took a vow to sell her pussy
But she don’t get much, cause it’s balding and ginger
There’s mold on her sphincter and her fanny farts smell like Golden Virginia
And your Mum might be a cougar, fam
But trust, she’s got a gruesome flange
It stinks like a sewage plan and its
Seen more viruses than a broke movie fan’s computer has
And you were on BBC, but not cause of your battles or your rhymes
It’s cause you poured vodka into your pupils for the cameras on that night
They took you to the doctors, you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life
Said it don’t go in your bloodstream, it just damages your eyes
You stood and looked at the bitch like that was a surprise!
You couldn’t be more of a spastic if you tried!
There’s no way you’re fucking with Lunar and Matter logical
You put liquor shots in your eye? Man, that is horrible!
The next time you decide to splash your optical
With a brandy shot or two, I’ll pull a rapid rocket move
And turn that shot glass into a shattered monocle!
And your blindness is the reason your bars are irrelevant
Cause you were gobsmacked when, a second ago
You realized that we’re not black men
Yo, don’t use your contact lens as a shot glass then
And you need to send thank you letter to
The BBC editor, cause the shit that you left out of that
Documentary was even sketchier
You two giving each other Hennessey enemas on a regular
Frisko and Edward call theirselves the Bass Invaders
When they’re ripping their sets up
But you faggots should just combine your names like Jedward
Cause you’re fed wood on a regs, bruv
Fuck your whole life, Frisko!
On weekdays, you and Eddie run a mobile disco
Doing weddings for some old white rich folk
Performing drum ‘n’ bass renditions of old Motorola ringtones
Fuck anyone who thinks these faggots can beat Matter and me
I’ll climb stark bollock naked up your family tree
And drag my balls across the face of every slag that I meet

[Round 3: Eddie P and Frisko]
Yo, let’s get it real, these two Yorkshire puddings won’t mash up the mix
They’re just a couple of country hicks from out in the sticks
That suck on dicks for Spudnik ticks
Me and Frisko are pillars of the community
We’re down with the kids
These guys are pedos in the community
They go down on the kids
I saw your Mum on the BBC in the riots the other night
It was quite a fright, I won’t lie, I actually felt tight
She was trying to make a flamethrower setting her farts alight
[?]
No, no, don’t let Lunar’s Mum play you like that
You’re no fool, she insinuated the Bradford riots a few years ago
She went down and kicked it old school!
Yo Matter, prepare to get angry
Cause I fucked every single female member in your family
And Lunar, I feel like a really horrible bother
Cause at the moment, I’m cheating on your Mum with your Mum’s mother
What, you’re with Lunar’s gran, his Mum’s mother?
I’m supposed to be her one and only lover
She’s playing us off each other!
We’ll make the bitch suffer
You stick her minge in the grill
And you crack her head off t’cooker!
And after that, I’m gonna go to Matter’s Mum’s and jizz on her boat
Then I’ll shove her shit in her throat
And right before I leave, I’ll take a piss in her coat!
Both of youse need to put the child porn down
And you need to get over that eye-of-the-storm crown
And Lunar, after this, get on some keen bitches
But first, sort your lobe out, bro, cause it needs stitches
Don’t try and claim you’re rogue with that lobe, I don’t think so
You ain’t blaggin’ me bro, you’re blatantly an emo
Hip-hop’s your alter ego
And Matter looks like a pedo who’s going through chemo
“Yo, it’s real Matter, I’m reppin’ real hip-hop, everyone else forgot rap”
Stop that!
I’ll strangle you with the elastic from my jockstrap
And get Lunar’s Mum to give you cockslap after cockslap
Yo, what’s it called?
MATTER’S GOIN’ BALD!

[Round 3: Lunar C and Matter]
Listen, dickhead, you live in your Nan’s attic and finger her back passage
While this little wack faggot is filming it and wanking
And I reckon both of you two could fit into that chasm
Cause shit, your Nan’s asshole is as big as the Grand Canyon
Your delivery lacks passion, you’re ginger and that’s tragic
You’re thinking you’re fantastic, you’re tripping, you’ve yammed acid
Cause that don’t add up like you’ve skipped all your math classes
This is lyrical shit, stick to your bibbidy-bap bapping
My level of brain training method is painstaking
You just make irrelevant gay statements
Get a couple cheap laughs and reckon it’s plain sailing
I saw your last two-on-two, I know your tactics and I can counteract them
You only beat them on crowd reactions cause Manny heads hate Scouser accents
That’s why you don’t battle unless it’s in your home town
And you’ve brought your own crowd
They’ll ride dick when you spit filler for a fucking whole round
I gave your girl a driving lesson
The gear stick was my erection
We didn’t need no Sat Nav cause I gave her all the right directions
I gave your girl a spa treatment
Inner body massage with a hard penis
Cucumber slices in her eyes to soothe
Her facial mask was my semen
It’s such a treacherous journey through your Mother’s
Absurdly huge cervix you had to learn to walk
Before the bitch gave birth to you
Her vaginal cavity is like Wonderland
Every week, she fucks about a hundred man
I was fisting that bitch the other day and I’m sure somebody shook my hand
And you can find him at raves hugging the speakers
Nah, lemme adjust it and tweak it
He’s unplugging the speakers and fucking the speakers
And speaking of speakers, you’re a guest speaker at classes in schools
Like “Kids, don’t do drugs, this could happen to you”
Yeah! Cause you got that blaggard swag
You look like you need a good bath or shower
To be fair, you look like you haven’t touched crack in hours
You jump on tracks and spit in patois like you’re a Rastafarian
And you look like Avid Merrion after a bag of heroin
Time