Track 5 from Late Introductions by KAML. Did the beat and the rap, thank you. Shout out to Verbese, that crazy Aussie!

Lyrics:
[Chorus]
Most rappers aren't scared 'a pigs 'till they're pork if they're from New York
Secretly filing police reports and joining dole queues for free forts
Got a grand total of three thoughts, seeded thoughts from weed talk
Form bleed warts trying to climb Jack's beanstalk

I'm heavy, welcome to my weight class
I ain't the champ but I definitely ain't last
Like Jack I'm a giant too defiant to just
Sit the fuck down, take a beating with my fake ass
I got some swag on my eight pass
Yeah, I keep it real when I make task
Life's short, I don't contemplate a late class
First in line is the only way to make last
And eight bars can't hold me
I shoot straight, and I strike past goalies
The whole crowd knows I didn't act solely
I and I alone got a whole team trophy
Expired, retired, martyr, fly
Higher, I live where the birds conspire, too
Sick, too thick, I'm Kevi, I'm heavy, get
Ready, I'm ready, let's get it already

[Chorus]

Fuck swag, I'm a Stag, I stagger
Always on point like a fly ass dagger
Spit crunk like I sipped that junk
Good job boy, go long, make 'em sing that song
Jesus, who's really gonna believe us
I'm a heathen who's gonna receive us
So what, I don't get on knees, press
Hands, close eyes, try to pay off fees
These old priests better get-off-me, I'm
KAML, I'm ill, I got HIV, and no
Sir, I don't like preaching that MOE
M-O-N-E-Y is Slav-er-ry
I only talk about a RBE
A Scientific train of thought and ET3
Listening to Technique and Nathan B
I'ma go ahead and Love Life, Live, Free

[Chorus]

As they scream naught
Refuse to give up like a team sport, but like Muscat you don't know when to hand in your bus pass
Got no poker face you'll come last, and I'll flush fast your puff pass
Your rust craft couldn't pass mustard, and your bluff's hard beef but you're a custard tart treat
You're sorta sweet, but the only grief you give me's disbelief
That you've got a whole crew of number twos who call you chief

Obscure avant-garder like SBR
Fuck a Japanese gamer raver like DDR
Lollipop craver, loliphilia raper getting off on the trolley stop
Only people feeling ya's the ticket inspectors looking for your ticket docket
Stop it, you scream, but they're fondling; they're not stopping honouring the myki ticket system
Get some more tax in 'em, fax in your facsimile, more drunk than Steve Brack's family
Liquid courage, don't you need it, drunk driving and seeing Jesus
Punk sighting: torn denim and hot-wiring, the cops tiring get out the jaws of life
In the middle of the night, cause you're stuck in a close shave, the power poll's your last rave
The old entryway's smeared across your middle of the road grave