Dirty Dike - Am I

Another banger from Dike’s first album. Dike’s got some classic bars on this one, and as usual Ed Scissor comes through with his safe as fuck flow and some mind-twisting imagery.

VERSE 1: DIRTY DIKE

Am I wack like your first show
Or am I bad like a black magic curse
Nah I’m fat like a burst nose
Clap from the back to the third row
Back-slapping birds
Am I just a sack of words and some cracked bones
Am I lost in this bucket full of knuckle heads
Fucking mess scuffles when you’re drunk and there’s nothing said
Am I missing out on love in my public bed? Rough it
Best trust, but I’m stuck puffing skunk instead
Am I tough as lead? Cuss what my mother said
Trapped in life’s bread rubbish dust, now we’re hugging less
Am I causing your husband some sudden stress
Or am I just another bumpkin that’s underdressed
Nonetheless
They say I’m tight like a shrunken vest
Why? Cause I’m fucking fresh
Rhyming like drunken sex
Am I trapped in the spiral of drugs and debt
The vinyl that scratch or the cries when you’re mother’s dead
I’m in your mind when it bubbles red
So I’m like 5 tonnes of trouble when there’s nothing left
A sick muddle
Am I a kiss or a big cuddle
Am I a big fat shit or a sick puddle
Am I the dick muscle twitch when your bitch struggles
This is it, juggle this, grip till I spit rubble
Quick swiftness shit, am I a bit pissed
Sick as the switchblade gripped by the thick stubble
Am I normal or am I sane
Should I snorkel my way through the thoughts of my shallow grave
And not pause till I’m back again
Am I gawping in pain at my war face or am I vain
Am I the skin of the drum that you’re tapping on
Clap along, let your head snap to a happy song
Am I a back stage pass or a smile as wide as your fat mate’s ass
My rap breaks glass and takes half your mate’s bars
Straight past ancient days and leaves great scars
Leaves great fucking scars
Am I the titbits
The what is this
The hot business whose got spirit
And only stops to rock lyrics
A novelist
With a lot of shit in his oesophagus
The doctor said stop but I’m lost so I’ve got to spit
What is this?
And that’s an obvious blag
Am I Captain Pissman’s colostomy bag
Or a spot in your mag or a slag getting robbed on
God this is mad I’ll just dodge it and plan
To escape the fakes and be free when I suffocate
Nothing’s changed, drunk puffing eights in a fucking state

VERSE 2: ED SCISSORTONGUE

Am I the missing link
Hobbit-feet tree-swinging monkey grin
Tectonic ends of a stone-faced chiselled chin
Am I the will to win
Like a million men who missioned in the depths of winter to stop Nazi militia men pillaging their villages
Man am I the village idiot
Who dribbles mic deliverance, spinning the riddled synonyms
Fractured limbs and ligaments
For instance imagination figments illuminate the darkness in the distance
Am I paddling like ???? in that Dead Man’s curve
Or am I drinking pints of piss just like a bed pan perve
Until my head can’t swerve
Is this the head-case heard
Smuggling birds that across ???? you choose to observe
Am I that Class A dude spitting Class A tunes at dark venues
Find me in blacked out back rooms of the man on the moon
Strapping headshoots
While simultaneously cooking up some skag in a spoon
Am I that cynic with many lyrics
That dabble with existential metaphysics
Questioning the ancient scripts that paint the minds of millions
Or am I another one of many earth-bound spirits
Trying to fight the fear if only to find that they’re made in his image
Am I just a set of useless shapes and shady remarks
A person composed of penny shop parts
Trying to walk the shadiest parks
Wrist-slitters that lay in the bars
I see a red sea embark even Moses couldn’t part with his magical staff
Satanical scars, diagonal charms
See I’m the man to outreach in my mechanical maniacal arms
Spitting cannibal bars
Filled with sicker imagery than a VHS of animal farm
Am I the man that walks in circles never learning a thing
Almost regressing every second through a blaze before I felt I figured my sins
A single organism twitching
Before the axis of the earth had ever started to spin
Am I the vibrating hammer on the strings of a boat rapping ivory hits
Echoing inside grand piano lids
Or am I the software packages that cut and paste the symphonies for kings into a banging loop of gigs
Am I the Sun Dance Kid
Am I the Matrix glitch
Am I the dusty vinyl scratch that skips these amazing scripts
See it’s, weird psychosis of a garbage mail kid
I never stabbed him in the ribs, it was the demons in my mind that did
Am I the last-laughing lager loud downing cask ales in large amounts
Before last orders, fast passing out
Fastest bastard about to blast an ounce
Whose barred from half the bars in town
Am I Ed Scissortongue Pablo-esque-????-tron
Or has this alter ego got my going psycho over songs
Am I that wack jam host
Who likes to backhand flows
Its best advised that you avoid him like a Pacman ghost