Hilltop Hoods - Tolerance Levels lyrics

rate me

I conversate to all MC's with my double jointed tongue

Slapping, fuck ya wack rapping

Taking-a-bite-out-of-ya-mix and best mic just happening

You're lacking in persona

While I throw lyric bombardments to your crew in every corner

I discharge a mad flow that'll stop dogs from barking

Snap your leg bones so you can use disabled parking

Give you unimaginable meanings to the word fucking

Your raps mean nothing, I get your grandma to cook me muffins

Move in so I can hide eggs in the neighbour's ceiling

In plastic bags next to the cocaine and Bruce Lee key rings

You MC's are still teething, intriguing

Before the battle pleading, after that your heads are bleeding

Miraculous flows with raggedy clothes, my trademark

Overweight but I'll still move fast, on any beat that's hard

You claiming to be battle MC's with tight flows and integrity?

Blow me, you mother fuckers are far from scary

Pressure MC, get with me, from Adelaide to Sydney

This be dedicated to MC's that struck out but still yelling 'hit me! '

With their gimmicks and imagery, this isn't ability

They barely stand on their own two, I got infinite stability

The difference admittedly is minimally in your favour

The thinnest paper, while I got the flavour to stimulate ya

Censors and integrate the presence in every sentence

So I harness life essence and kept my blessings as lessons

My tolerance overloads, MC's are over-exposed

Can't get over themselves like females can't get over clothes

Hip-hop is overdosed like here we over rose this distortion now

Every arsehole got an opinion - but it's mainly shit talking

I break new ground while many fall short of the high land, they tir-an

Missed the point like saying 'it's that way' to a blind man

Fucked if I'm a by-stand while my cultures choking fast

My tolerance is wearing thin, man they treading on broken glass

Why, why

Tell me why-y

Tell me why these MC's try-y-y

I'm reaching the threshold of my tolerance level...

Cause you might...

Weather the storm but you can't stand the rain boy

Gets played like a game boy

I'll make you FUCKING SUFFER like my name boy

Hey boy, what you got there? Is that a microphone?

Well two's company so why not leave me and the mic alone?

Fighting clones, shit they lack, I'm walking on their grave when

Alone on this mic so no one else is on my wavelength

Gave strength to the weak, gave breath to the breathless

You can take it to the street but it's like playing in asbestos

Test us, like you holier than thou, lose control of ya bounce

Pack up your suitcase and fold up your blouse

We all in the house, like home-arrest, I'm known to stress

So show your best flow and let's see my next rhyme blow your chest

Open like a surgeons scalpel, I'll leave you hurt and doubtful

Of your words cause this is murder in a mouthful

Suffa bring disaster from within, hear the laughter from my kin

I'll leave you with the Hoods logo plastered, crafted in your skin

Step and bust, but realise there's no stopping us

So watch your whole crew get fucked, like my dick was filled with Phosphorus

I've been busting raps since the days of fat laces

There's a lot of new rappers, but they're not Fatfaces

They're disgraces, they could never be compared to me

(Like are they really that bad?) Well I'm prepared to see

I'll be at their stage show, waiting in the front row

And if they try and diss I'm gonna stop their flow

Like cholesterol in the arteries and shit in the S bend

I'll rattle their whole crew and scull back the west end

I'm destined to be known, for ripping the microphone

Try and bite like a clone, that'll never be condoned

I've shown some restraint, but now I've reached the edge

Of my tolerance level, so it's you I'm gonna sledge

I pledge allegiance to Australia, I'm a true aussie rhymer

Mate your raps stink more, than a prostitute's vagina

I find your accents laughable to say the least

You're far from honour with a life betting on junior treats fool

Tell me why

I'm sick of misfits, I'm sick of twits

I'm sick of internet gits that choke a microphone, miss

From gargling piss, of their message board buddies

They should be writing real raps, instead of uni studies

I'm throwing stubbies, in the general direction

They can only battle us, when they pass our introspection

Neglection, is the sole reason for this fake fate

When the quality of life depends on board rate

And E-mates, who's reality revolves around

Incoming attachments and mp3 sounds

They think they're bound, for infinite glory

But have got a multiple choice, perspective on this story

(One)

They go back to where they came from

(Two)

They study explosives then drop bombs

(Three)

They learn to stand up, fight and terrify

(Bitch)

They look me in the eye and tell me why