Dusty. dusty... dusty.dusty
I goes out at night, in my glad rags
Selling some to posh kids, prozzies and fags
I do's a few spoons to get me in the mood
I never do too much cos that makes you rude
Cos that's the trouble when you do too much
You get a big mouth, start to lose touch
You act all hard, gettin' louder and louder
It's no fuckin' wonder they call it wacko powder
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty!
My frontal lobes, have fucking turned black
And when your? s gone you cant never get it back
Pulls things out my nose that look like bits of flan
So sometimes I wash 'em up and smoke 'em on a can
Started in lines, chronic fuckin' times
Got a fuckin' blizzard blowing through my mind
This dirty fuckin' habit's costin' me a fuckin' mint
Blew my cash on the blower now I'm really fuckin' skint
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty! dusty! dusty!
She don't like, she don't like, she don't like cocaine
I never saw a woman fuckin' complain
Like the pale skinny girl over there, she don't care
She likes to play head games but fuckin' beware
She's really fuckin' off it, look at her eyes
Give her half a gram and she'll open her thighs
But leave her alone if I was you brother
Cos she's not the kind of girl you can take home to your mother
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty!
I knows you knows, if you knows what I mean
All this majic dusty, the most I've ever seen
I really got to stop, taking this shit
I really fuckin' want to but it's hard to quit
This cocaine scene is full of false fuckers
I'd rather deal with people fucked up on pukkas
So it's ta-ra posh, I need a fuckin' rest
Back to sellin' mary jane and fuckin' flat press
Dust! Majic dusty! Majic dust! Majic dusty, dusty, dusty
Yeah, I got 3 grams of Tony Montana,
2 grams of Jody Kidd, 4 grams of Kate Moss, and an eccy...
*Like Michael Barrymore back on the jam,... Four? go out with a bang*
Yeah, my mate had cocaine,
And he took all of 'em... My mate took 'em,
And there was all white foam round his mouth like Mumm-Ra from, er, Lion-O