Nobody Knows by QELD Lyrics
[Verse 1: Bob Savage]
...yo the fat dank carrier
Working class militant - shank bank managers
No Shameless rip-off, no Yank Frank Gallagher
Bobby, not even the Macho Man's Savager
Richard Keys emcees smashing' ya
Battle bars attackin ya
Nerd shit, Battlestar Galactica
...it's grim and disgustin'
I spit sick shit then I grin like a pumpkin
Sick of the grumblin' west country bumpkins
No flow rappers still stick to the punch-ins
Bedminster draw-tickers
Thumping bumbling mumbling Westminster bullshitters
Lawless and auspicious
Kush Zombies stalk you and awkwardly crawl thru a small slither
Foolish to brawl with the devilish two
Got bare bones to pick with your skeleton crew, yo
[Hook: Bob Savage & Jenre]
Nobody knows about QELD
Nobody cares about QELD
Nobody gives a shit about QELD, yo
Come get lean with the QELD
Smoke green with the QELD
"Females" come and sleep with the QELD
Or at least please speak to the QELD, oi!
Quelle Est La Date speaking French like Delboy
Now nobody knows cos we never left evidence
Kush Zombies want brain, and undead presidents
[Verse 2: Jenre]
Yo it's Jenre Beats seizing your means of production
While dreaming of police chiefs beat with their truncheon
I watch TV and drink teas in abundance
No bog weez please I need weed just to function
And I'm a beast with production, its off key
They're weak in the substance and speaking like cockneys
So please seek the boss key cus QELD be the next level
Best while the rest settle softly
Don't accost me it's costly to do that
The pope wouldn't cross me, can't boss me I move tracks
Your crew lacks the ability to spit so nice
Unique skill with beats built like Kimbo Slice
No dice for you, there's no ace hidden
You ain't my blud, I'm fresh and you're plague ridden
I slay rhythms, no fucking with this
My love for the pigs is like God - it doesn't exist
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Bob Savage]
Too many man still can't roll a zoot right
Topload-a joint, no Dance in the Moonlight
Spark it... I'm starting to need some
...like Park I'm a Ji-Sung!
Bury me holding my grade so I roll in the grave
Kush Zombies shoulda been told to behave
We're troubled by karma
Make you say 'touche!', double Guevara
Start the Mardi Gras when we spark a peng draw
No Marks & Sparks, this is Marx & Engels
Kush Zombies raise malls, leaving mannequins shook
Reading early 20th century anarchist books, look
Don't step to me don
It's like Messi is on
And Bobby Savage getting Trym like Westbury-on-'
Now nobody knows where the weaponry gone
QELD want the proletariat and peasantry strong
...yo the fat dank carrier
Working class militant - shank bank managers
No Shameless rip-off, no Yank Frank Gallagher
Bobby, not even the Macho Man's Savager
Richard Keys emcees smashing' ya
Battle bars attackin ya
Nerd shit, Battlestar Galactica
...it's grim and disgustin'
I spit sick shit then I grin like a pumpkin
Sick of the grumblin' west country bumpkins
No flow rappers still stick to the punch-ins
Bedminster draw-tickers
Thumping bumbling mumbling Westminster bullshitters
Lawless and auspicious
Kush Zombies stalk you and awkwardly crawl thru a small slither
Foolish to brawl with the devilish two
Got bare bones to pick with your skeleton crew, yo
[Hook: Bob Savage & Jenre]
Nobody knows about QELD
Nobody cares about QELD
Nobody gives a shit about QELD, yo
Come get lean with the QELD
Smoke green with the QELD
"Females" come and sleep with the QELD
Or at least please speak to the QELD, oi!
Quelle Est La Date speaking French like Delboy
Now nobody knows cos we never left evidence
Kush Zombies want brain, and undead presidents
[Verse 2: Jenre]
Yo it's Jenre Beats seizing your means of production
While dreaming of police chiefs beat with their truncheon
I watch TV and drink teas in abundance
No bog weez please I need weed just to function
And I'm a beast with production, its off key
They're weak in the substance and speaking like cockneys
So please seek the boss key cus QELD be the next level
Best while the rest settle softly
Don't accost me it's costly to do that
The pope wouldn't cross me, can't boss me I move tracks
Your crew lacks the ability to spit so nice
Unique skill with beats built like Kimbo Slice
No dice for you, there's no ace hidden
You ain't my blud, I'm fresh and you're plague ridden
I slay rhythms, no fucking with this
My love for the pigs is like God - it doesn't exist
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Bob Savage]
Too many man still can't roll a zoot right
Topload-a joint, no Dance in the Moonlight
Spark it... I'm starting to need some
...like Park I'm a Ji-Sung!
Bury me holding my grade so I roll in the grave
Kush Zombies shoulda been told to behave
We're troubled by karma
Make you say 'touche!', double Guevara
Start the Mardi Gras when we spark a peng draw
No Marks & Sparks, this is Marx & Engels
Kush Zombies raise malls, leaving mannequins shook
Reading early 20th century anarchist books, look
Don't step to me don
It's like Messi is on
And Bobby Savage getting Trym like Westbury-on-'
Now nobody knows where the weaponry gone
QELD want the proletariat and peasantry strong