Billy Goes to Spain

by Maximum Genius

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about

My second album or mixtape or whatever you want to call it.

credits

released November 5, 2013

All music and lyrics written and performed by Max Coulson.

All samples from public domain films.

Album art by Regina Lafay of Lafay.org .

Special thanks to me for being so supportive of my work, right from the start.

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Maximum Genius Torquay, UK

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Track Name: Bring It
This is a robbery, Nah, I'm just kidding,
Oil in the sea, now I want to go swimming,
Swimming?
Making a killing, KILLING!
Top billing, worth every shilling, thrilling,
Ooh, check the news, who are you,
Breaking through, not new but phew!
Ooh, that was a close one, dude,
I dare say, that was rather rude!
You flibbertigibbet,
Gossip, gossip, feel the need to inhibit,
In a minute, your incessant bullshitting,
Gritting my teeth while you carry on bitching,
Snitching and bewitching those around you,
Call it a cry for attention, did I mention?
Bah, bibblygumba, bring it on, dude!

So now Freakboi's back with a very cool hat,
Sewing landmines into the welcome mat,
I dare say, I'm a persistent twat,
Who remains suitably armed for lyrical combat,
Underclass arsehole, not doing what I'm told,
Fuck a branded hair gel, I still break the mould!
This class war shit's getting old,
Let's just watch their self destruction unfold.
Fuck a nice guy! Fuck the Zeitgeist!
Fuck the lies and fuck the dizzy heights!
I spit the real shit, reveal my sickness,
Plead my case then I shoot my only witness,
In the courtroom, I was bound to get bored soon,
Shoot myself in the face, then I write a raw tune,
Reality's fucked, this boi's getting more rude,
Fuck making a fortune, bring it, dude!
Track Name: Kill Ainsley Harriott
All my party people in the club! There's something I want you to do!
And I understand that this isn't something you'd usually be expected to do in this sort of situation. But don't question it, I have my reasons.

What I want you to do is... just.. look...

All my boi's in the club, kill Ainsley Harriott,
All my bitches in the club, kill Ainsley Harriott!

If you see him in the club, you should smack him about,
Hold his nose, pour Fairy liquid into his mouth,
Smack him in the face with good, locally-sourced trout,
Then drown him in a bath of cough medicine with clout!
Chop him up, finely, and season with dill,
Then let him simmer gently on the grill,
Impress that audience with your cooking skill,
Red Tomatoes one, Green Peppers, nill!
TV chefs as fresh as you can get,
Bits of Gordon Ramsay stuffed into baguettes,
Jamie Oliver in Jelly, just leave it to set,
I guarantee, it'll be the best thing you eat,
Of a three-course meal, because we'll,
Have a side of hairy bikers Vichyssoise* and eel,
Heston Blumenthal, Brie sauce and veal,
Or Rick Stein sushi, if you get a raw deal!

Ready steady, trapped on the Jetty, who got the boat stuck,
Need to blame someone, but who? Oh look!
Can't cook, won't cook, grab your phone book,
Beat him over the head and rip out his throat -hyuk!-
Throw him over the edge and let's go fishing,
Fish biting a chef, it seems so fitting,
Throw the fish back in the water, let 'em keep on swimming,
If you want flavour, Ainsley Harriott's brimming.
First celeb to try him, "Oh, you weren't kidding!"
Clone him, open a cafe, make a, uh, killing!
And that's wicked, Red Tomatoes winning,
Boy this sure beats, bread and dripping!
OOOOOOOH! That shit's tasty,
Rustic TV chef served with gravy!
All wrapped in filo pastry.
This dish'll send your tastebuds crazy!

All my boi's in the club, kill Ainsley Harriott,
All my bitches in the club, kill Ainsley Harriott!
Track Name: Fat Kid in a Punk Band
Look up there, in the sky!
What is that?

Is it a bird or a plane, no it's a fucking dirty beggar which
Is standing on your balcony, pissing in your beverage!
I know the real truth, so I guess that gives me leverage,
Truths so fucking brutal that they'll give you a brain haemorrhage!

So many people are scared to offend but no, not I,
I've got both my middle fingers up in the air, shouting "fuck Israel, and fuck Dubai!"

But at the end of the day, I'm just a fat kid in a punk band!

Fuck aggressors, fuck oppressors,
Fuck the shady exploits of my ancestors,
Fuck dictators and their successors,
'Cause until they're fucked, things won't get better!
Memorise this shit, all of it, every letter!
The one percent have fucked us over to accumulate cheddar,
Troops are dying overseas, you're shrugging like "whatever,"
'Cause it helps oil prices drop down, hell for leather.

You embezzle and guzzle everything you can,
More problems means more money for you,
I'd say shit's worse than ever before,
But, let's face it, this bullshit is nothing new!

Local councils, instead of getting sharps off the streets,
You put money into building a new statue!
So I'm taking my anger and I'm balling it up,
And then I'm gonna throw it straight at you!

But, at the end of the day, I'm just a fat kid in a punk band!
Track Name: Bitches on Mah Dick
Bitches on mah dick!
I see dem Bitches on mah dick!

This stream of consciousness, I'm flexin',
Infuriating, inebriating, like vexing on mescaline,
Inflating egos and stepping on them.
I'm exhaling my hatred, and inhaling more,
Coming down with Deja Vu, I think we've been here before,
Call it paranoia, but I'm sensing a theme,
Correlations conducive to shit rappers stacking P's,
And I'm pissed off, because what all of that means
Is that you get more out of riding than when you try to lead!

(swag)

Fat stacks and bitches, is all that I hear,
Swag, gangs and liars leaving bank accounts cleared.
I'd call it the New World Order, but it's just too hard
To envision and evil empire run by these retards!
But I guess the truth remains that we've been force fed this shit,
And the fact that it's selling makes me physically sick.
So time to get lazy and rhyme "dick" with "dick,"
Swag the fuck out, 'cause bitches on mah dick!

Bitches on mah dick,
I see dem bitches on mah dick!
Track Name: Release the Genius
Like the C.H.U.D, he kinda cruddy,
Holy fuck, he full on nutty,
Fuddy-duddy study buddy,
Bloody grubby, ugly yuppie!

I rhyme phonetic, you rhyme pathetic,
Wasn't born mad, must be epigenetic,
I wax poetic, you lack aesthetic,
Your style's synthetic, its apathetic.

So content with shit staying the same,
Not concerned with art, you're just praying for fame,
A crowd full of people swaying, chanting your name,
But even if you get it, you ain't changing the game,
That shit will stagnate, then you will shrivel and die,
Your kind will dissipate, you will fizzle and fry,
Music ends not with a bang but with a whimper and sigh,
And in the distance you can hear my war cry!

Oi! Release the genius!
Release your inner freak,
Oi! Release the genius!
Scream when they won't let you speak!


I got bars! And I know how to use 'em.
Bars designed just to piss you off for my own amusement.

You don't spit hot, you spit hot air,
You think style is dictated by what you wear,
Well if my ability is dictated by my hair,
I'm gonna flow like my locks and spit wild like a grizzly bear.

I don't care- whether or not I am hip hop,
Cause I'm so Swanky I look boss while wearing socks with my flip flops!

Call Dale Winton cause I shop till I drop,
Picking lyrics from my mind when I pop off,
Like a shook up Panda Pop top, stop,
Not 'til you flop like a Madchester mop top!

Oi! Release the genius!
Release your inner freak,
Oi! Release the genius!
Scream when they won't let you speak!
Track Name: We Are
We Are-

Vocal, apathetic generation, luxury plus desperation,
Transparent, ambiguous nation, a kingdom of conspiracy like Immolation,
Truth hurts don't it? Shown it. This one life you're alone in,
You like to omit, phone it in but the truth it it's your life so own it.

We are-

The children of an ideal that we have never held,
The fear of inevitable fictions, that we've created for ourselves.
The truth in a nutshell, encased in an underground bunker,
(we are) The fear we can't quell, defined by our own falls and blunders.

We're not the first to see corruption, and not defy,
Truth surrounds the lies but we ignore it, and stay inside.
Track Name: Food Bank Banquet
Always wondered how I could emerge from my social chrysalis,
Short of me having a stroke, I'm pretty sure that this is it!
Started steering clear of my home town like it's crawling with syphilis,
Trying to rise up to the sun- spiritual photosynthesis.
So am I above it? Just a little bit!
I could eat a box of laxatives and I still wouldn't give a shit
About the in-fighting and petty politics
Between bitchy teenage backstabbers and uncommitted pricks!
Now I'm speaking the truth, to whoever will listen,
CEO's polishing turds and hoping they will glisten,
Peddling the media hype, the fucking right-wing tripe,
Got the head of Carpet Right running schools across Britain.
Now I'm flying in like Pilkington!
-whoosh, crash- Bullshit!
All this crap you're talking, you know the other one? Pull it!
You've sealed your fate, you've failed in your mission,
We're not fooled and those of you who are with me LISTEN!

Put on your Oxfam Jacket, whip up a food bank banquet,
Living a different type of dream than this conglomerate planet!

My rhymes burrow in but they won't get out,
Your brains are semi-permeable,
My style is great like Chinese walls,
Kill you without being exerted at all,
My tastes are cheap but I keep it fresh,
Centuries of the sell by date,
Other rappers styles are stagnant
And now it's time to ventilate
The industry, ruling the world with my delivery,
A genuine freak, dark horse of AC, that's synergy.
The benefit system won't hinder me,
Swanky gang climbing out of the cinders, we
Are taking over, slippery industry,
Dare to speak your incessant bullshittery!

Put on your Oxfam Jacket, whip up a food bank banquet,
Living a different type of dream than this conglomerate planet!
Track Name: Hero
I'm a hero, for myself,
Imma save myself, screw everyone else!

My bars are sweet, like aspartame,
With nasty side effects, they'll mash ya brain,
Maximum Genius, that's mah name,
To me, your hate is an accolade,
Yo, I'm a deranged fucker, be strange, sucka,
Eating whole jars of peanut butter,
I'm a nutter, clutter in my brain I'm an ugly bugger,
And I'm a genius like Mark Zuckerberg!
I look around, "Oh fiddlesticks,"
Half you rappers have less balls than Little Mix,
I'd rather listen to a collection of Skiffle hits,
'Cause radio rap is like the soundtrack to Syphilis!
Yeah! And you still get away with it,
No message, just a turd, and I'm urging kids not to play with it,
It's just the way it is, but the Freakboi don't play for tips,
And eventually they'll hear your music and they'll be like "we paid for this?"

Anger! It's a powerful weapon,
Call me Ini Kamoze, 'cause this Freak's hotstepping,
Keep myself to myself, I got no city that I'm reppin'
And I love me some pancakes so you better get some crepes in,
OOOOH! I make it seem so easy,
I speak the truth, but I never get preachy,
Swanky, smut, sweaty, seems so sleazy,
Pepped up rage, nah mate, I'm peachy.
Force fed pop and it's left an aftertaste.
Like MC5, I kick out the marmalade,
Hell is like heaven to those who aren't afraid,
So hellward bound, I'm the mogul of martyr trade.
Stereo turned up, playing Motown,
Who's loving you? No-one on ground.
Roll up, roll up, to go down,
I'm taking kids to hell, call Alex Jones, NOW!

I'm a hero, for myself,
Imma save myself, screw everyone else!

I'm a hero, for myself,
You don't need my help, you can do it yourself.
Track Name: Crescendo
I am a demigod, I am a demagogue,
Anger building, intensity, killing, set the crescendo off!
K stabbed his neighbour, bloody L,
Nutty Butty in hell, I like my Cornetto's hot,
Chilly Willy, silly billy, ice float on lava flow,
Is me really getting leery, I gloat 'pon lava flows!
Bastards know, I keep a casket close,
In case I wanna start on foes,
Throw 'em in and fasten it closed!
I'm a nasty scroat, bring me peanut butter, after shows,
Or I might just take five digits round my palm and close,
Make like coke, blast your nose,
Maybe you should leave this rap shit to the master prose
and watch us speak the last line with only internal rhyme,
speaking in a way that isn't strictly rhythmic, certainly not
rapping, but a different method of reminding you of the
absolute reality that your career as a rapper is a fallacy.

Going hard, rocking swanky until I die,
Stick with your mind, can't handle what's inside mine,
I'm a crazy git, who spits amazing shit,
Not a fan of praise, I'd rather you be hating it!

YEAH!
Track Name: Release the Genius (radio edit)
Like the C.H.U.D, he kinda cruddy,
Holy -, he full on nutty,
Fuddy-duddy study buddy,
Bloody grubby, ugly yuppie!

I rhyme phonetic, you rhyme pathetic,
Wasn't born mad, must be epigenetic,
I wax poetic, you lack aesthetic,
Your style's synthetic, its apathetic.

So content with - just staying the same,
Not concerned with art, you're just praying for fame,
A crowd full of people swaying, chanting your name,
But even if you get it, you ain't changing the game,
That will stagnate, then you will shrivel and die,
Your kind will dissipate, you will fizzle and fry,
Music ends not with a bang but with a whimper and sigh,
And in the distance you can hear my war cry!

Oi! Release the genius!
Release your inner freak,
Oi! Release the genius!
Scream when they won't let you speak!


I got bars! And I know how to use 'em.
Bars designed just to - you off for my own amusement.

You don't spit hot, you spit hot air,
You think style is dictated by what you wear,
Well if my ability is dictated by my hair,
I'm gonna flow like my locks and spit wild like a grizzly bear.

I don't care- whether or not I am hip hop,
Cause I'm so Swanky I look boss while wearing socks with my flip flops!

Call Dale Winton cause I shop till I drop,
Picking lyrics from my mind when I pop off,
Like a shook up Panda Pop top, stop,
Not 'til you flop like a Madchester mop top!

Oi! Release the genius!
Release your inner freak,
Oi! Release the genius!
Scream when they won't let you speak!