Perhaps one of the most slept on
British hip hop albums ever, MINDBOMB’s 3rd long album
set “Great British Beef” dropped in 1998 to a
deafening silence from the UK’s music media… it came
at a time just before another wave of artists and
labels including Mark B & Blade, Roots Manuva, TY,
Taskforce, Phi Life Cypher, Low Life, Big Dada etc
managed to break down the final walls of press
indifference.
After 2 albums “Trippin’ thru the minefields Volumes
One and Two” from 1995 and 1996 MINDBOMB had become an
accomplished live act with Dave THE RUF seeing too all
music and beat production, as well as rhyming, writing
all the songs and planning the clever scratches for
Mark One to drop dazzling tricks with. By 1998 though,
mark had seized his chance of making silly money for
doing very little when he joined bland pop sensation
Texas after Grand Central’s Mark Rae opted out and
passed Sharlene’s number to Mark One, who after years
of tearing up decks in Manchester felt it might be his
only chance to get out of the shit hole. When Mark
left, Dave was distraught, especially because he was
receiving more interest in his MINDBOMB and JEEP BEAT
projects from the likes of Gut Records (big indie pop
label with Space at the time), Ministry of Sound (the
Conservative party of music) and big beat upstarts
Athletico as well as riding high from crossover
success in dance clubs playing big beats and eclectic
selections.
At this exact time Dave THE RUF had just set MINDBOMB
live backing MC Loz up with a £1K to take his Radio
Zero Double tape pack show to another level and get it
distributed in shops across the land. However, Marks
departure sent Loz off on a lost few weekends and when
he came back he announced the his heart wasn’t in it
with no Mark and that the cash had gone too, but he’d
used it too live off, tough. In a painful discussion,
Ruf realised that it was back to just him, his-self
and I. Out of pocket and even unable to retrieve the
bass guitar he’d “bought the group” he went home
gutted beyond belief.
Soon this spilled out in pages and pages of deft,
tricky and humourous lines – despite all the madness,
perhaps because of it, his writing and rhyming were
better than ever. And so he sat down with his latest
pile of carefully selected eclectic samples and began
to construct the soundscapes for what would become
Great British Beef. It was a huge long project but
infinitely enjoyable especially as his real friends
Eddie (D Joint) Clarkson, old skool mucka Jay Jordan
and his dope beatbox pal Nick Reece chipped in.
heartened by the results, RUF spent ages getting
everything just right, desperately trying to achieve
the boomiest and rawest results around with a mere
£3k’s worth of studio gear in the dusty front bedroom.
The Cutting Rooms Studio was never entered as it had
been for many Jeep Beat Collective tracks and a three
MINDBOMB joints – it was time to get back to basics
and make the best of another Ruf deal. At least this
time he was freer than ever to do whatever he wanted.
Even the scratches became much improved and well
measured to fit in amidst the layered productions that
took in sources and samples from an amazing array of
varied sources.
There are so many unique recordings on this album and
the associated MINDBOMB releases (several dope tracks
wouldn’t fit on so they spilled onto extra 12” and the
Instrumental edition) that you can’t go wrong.
If you haven’t heard it and love British Hip Hop
please obtain and we hope you enjoy it.
Love
RUF BEATS
RUF022 MINDBOMB Ruf beats / Produce the friction 12”
IN STOCK NOW – LAST FEW
RUF023 MINDBOMB Great British Beef 2xLP / CD IN STOCK
NOW
RUF024 MINDBOMB Great British Beef 2x12” (ALMOST MINI
LP!!) IN STOCK NOW
RUF025 MINDBOMB Great British Battlebreaks LTD 3xLP
(500 edition – sold out but RUF025 SIDES E/F the 300x
scratch sounds disc is still IN STOCK – JUST ABOUT
MINDBOMB – “GREAT BRITISH BEEF” FORWORD
Welcome to a crazy world where the singer doesn’t
sing, where the music isn’t considered proper music
(by many) and where a device used to play recordings
is now used entirely to make them. Welcome to a simple
world where the master of ceremony is the same as the
writer, musician, DJ, engineer, producer and even the
canteen lady. Welcome to the strangest collage of
sound available - where every single second has been
snatched & twisted into some funky offspring & thrown
together in a funky room with countless others to
create…well this. Welcome to my world of waking up in
the early hours and (after the obligatory nosebleed)
experiencing a relentless subconscious possession
which forces me to write this stuff. As the world
sleeps I seem to find instinctively the cracks and
lies in this market driven mess where everything is a
product.
We are sold an increasingly mediocre life by a
controlled media, which after many months of research,
I can only conclude is actually entrusted with
placating us & sedating us with endless mind numbing
garbage. Giving us a world where we hum their same old
tunes, as we are force fed them again & again to
convince us of their worth. Very occasionally,
something brilliant slips through their banal barrier,
whether it’s the incredible mind expanding music of
say Mansun, Manics, Public Enemy or Jimi Hendrix… or
the trippy liberating comedy of Bill Hicks, the League
of Gentlemen, Mark Thomas…. Or what about the books of
Clive Barker, Michael Moore, Iain (M) Banks, John
Pilger, or films like Kes, Trainspotting, The Long
Good Friday. Inspired excellence is around us
everywhere but these creations are rarely let loose on
the world due to a complicated web that filters out
the good stuff & feeds us Godzilla instead! Hey you
scum, I want to hear great music and see great
things……
These are strange times, we’re all numbed into apathy
by having to work harder and harder for less reward
(financially & spiritually). We are encouraged to
grass up our neighbours for tax dodging, to detest
free loaders and single parents, when billions in tax
exemptions every year are handed out to the 180
thriving multi-national companies that run the world
via the Successor Generation (in the UK). Our tax is
used to subsidise a grotesque national product of
misery… as land mines, ammunition, jet fighters &
personnel security vehicles (tanks) slip out of our
country whilst the nation’s badly informed
consciousness is still dreaming of the list of
possessions we would buy if we won the bleeding
lottery.
Everyone is so busy, we no longer have time for each
other.. so instead of getting out there, we stay in
and watch other people interact with their Friends..
until we vomit our Pringles & Coke all over our Wide
screen surround sound TVs. We have to have a nervous
breakdown to be noticed.. and then only if you’re
lucky… We are so uncertain of the future… I think deep
down we all know we have been sold an easy to swallow
lifestyle.. where apathy and mediocrity walk hand in
hand up the church aisle saying “we know we are crap
but at least we are happy and crap”. Maybe an
explosion is coming, maybe people’s real passions and
feelings will burst out.. but I doubt it. More likely
any such explosion would be contained, reduced and
bottled before being sold in special commemorative
gift sets and newspaper free magazines. Maybe the real
truth is that to find anything of worth in your life
you have to search for it.
So this album is a result of my search.
Through the last few years I have struggled on
releasing my own music in an industry led by trends,
that mainly produces disposable music. I knew it was a
dirty business when I started but I had no idea just
how hard it would be to get my music heard. Despite
suprisingly good reviews in the press, interviews
rarely followed, ‘cos “who wants to know about some
funny, skinny white dude from Altrincham (of all
places) who produces music that’s hard to categorise
and rhymes similar to how he talks”, but the things
I’ve seen and done… you should be allowed to know……
Being ripped off by distributors, screwed around by
record companies, nearly shot after a pirate radio
show, the protection money threats when I had my
shops, all the two faced journalists who called up &
blagged copies of “Westwood is a Twat” and then
although they liked it, couldn’t give it room.
Or what about going record shopping with Afrika
Bambaataa, playing before the Jungle Brothers / De La
Soul, getting respect off Jurassic 5 after Fresh 97,
playing live on Italy’s equivalent of Radio 1 (and
being interviewed about Derek B?). Or how about the
lazyness, greed and insanity that caused a crew to
fall apart, battles with the DSS, the taxman,
landlords, teachers and anyone worth battling! Or
maybe, when I heard cuts I’d devised in 95 Mindbomb
tunes being used over love songs by Texas at Wembley
and then smuggling loads of beers from their dressing
room into the aftershow party only to find that all
the beer was free anyway!! Or walking through private
Ministry Of Defence land and being followed by
spotlights….
What about seeing Bill Hicks before (like so many
other geniuses) he was taken away before his time,
what about being put down by Jo Brand, playing the
Opera House with Temper in Cork whilst being projected
onto a cinema screen looking back at yourself telling
1500 people that “Great Britain supplies 20% of the
world’s arms” whilst Nick’s beatbox panned from left
to right ending on a amazing helicopter sound effect.
Fuck me, that was some shit!
I’ve been through some mad times and come through with
more successes than most of my peers. I just wish more
people could hear these stories because you can’t
detonate bombs in a vacuum………..
And so I bring you “Great British Beef”. Like that
ill-fated national product, all rumours of the harm
this recording will do you are greatly exaggerated.
It’s an album that asks “who are really the insane
ones here?”. It’s an album that was recorded on £3 K
of knackered equipment, with vocals that sound a
little bit raw because I haven’t deciphered the
techno-geek text in the bloody useless compressor
manual. It’s an album about how I feel, so if that’s a
crime then good, put me on a Jerry Springer and let
his trial by morons commence.
Also occasionally you will hear real (yes .. not
reversed) swearing this is because I am pissed off (or
trying to be funny / clever), you will hear rhymes in
a Northern accent ‘cos surprise, surprise I’m a
Northern bastard and you will hear some of my friends
too, ‘cos surprisingly I still have some.
Welcome to my 3rd Mindbomb offspring….spread the word
to your friends (if you have any) and listen to
this…it’s Ruf.
The Ruf 5-7am 2/2/1999
Ruf Beats
Come far since I started this - many still dismiss
this.
Trippin’ thru’ the minefield and it’s Volume 3.
Arse….. I never kissed this - raised a clench fist.
Never sounded Yankee ‘cos I’m just being me.
Was the crime, I find, my positive mind.
Up lifting the truth, the proof in my rhyme.
So absorb it, late at night through your headphones.
Lights switched off - you smoke in your own zone.
Built my own success through a concrete structure.
Advice - at a price, you really can’t trust your
crew - only a few lasted this long.
LP number 3 with your Mindbomb song’s.
now cherish this - ‘cos it took time doing this
many hours of pleasure…. many of pain.
But I took this - so it’s worthwhile jamming this.
Ruf beats every time so respect the name.
Crashed the 9-5 now the Ruf’s beat chief -
rock-able, unstoppable and I’m no thief.
Just sampler, creator of my Jeep Beat sound.
Godfather of Weird so learn your way around - my
a.k.a’s
but return to the Mindbomb vibe.
Not many have survived but it’s great to be alive.
On my own though, musically - supporting all country.
Apathy rife - I cut like a knife.
So I keep, mentally - most importantly physically
Hip hop ‘til I drop and I’m loving my life.
Gotta express the best - feelings out my system
negative thoughts, sometimes you’ve gotta diss them.
Easy to complain, we’re all part of the problem.
Magazines, seminars really can’t solve ‘em.
Cause is deeper in culture’s bed.
Hip hop’s from New York, Yes where it was bred, but
spread
worldwide - a legal drug.
Many people nurtured it with hip hop love,
mutate, celebrate, turn it into their own,
this is Planet Rock so hail your home.
Don’t wanna imitate the great from across the seas,
for worldwide consumption, I need to be free
of constrictions, formula’s, please fill it with YOU
Reflect all your pain like in a circular room
of mirrors, I figure, it’s hard to relate.
To a rapper with a point when the Great Escape’s
entertainment - (I don’t want my MTV)
Now mass marketed, it’s down to greed
and I need it, you need it, but money ain’t all
we’re fighting over peanuts & what it all for?
I’m bigging up my brothers - but they never give back.
Take and they take now.. that is a fact.
Achieved much in 5 years, should’ve done better,
A few are so scared to back a trendsetter,
no sweat-ah Return of the Dj invoked.
When I sent to the Bomb Nah nope its dope
and it was. (Scratching - what is it?) Back
The bomb dropped Ruf and I’m back on wax.
Moving on forward, building up skills,
paid all my dues, had to dodge many bills.
Sorted out crews from this nation divided.
Changing this industry, from the inside,
in my own way, small way, perhaps, maybe.
Watching worldwide now scattered my babies,
30K across the globe consumed
Another 80K on compilations fused
with Massive Attack & Nancy boy Placebo,
journeys by Dj’s “Wired up” on Athletico,
operation Overlord the French invasion
and Beats by dope demand but you’ve gotta be patient
for advance, I thank Massimo, Dust 2 Dust.
My Bomb’s worldwide, Return of DJ discussed
already, its heady, beware the Cat freebie.
I wrecktified dimensions on a label called BOLSHI,
its all me & where there’s hits mine fit’s
easily in place - sometimes blow ‘em to bits.
On Vinyl CD & the odd cassette,
dubplates, DAT tapes I demand respect.
DJ sets wrecked, the Ruf breaks styli,
on point with a joint and with a sly smile I
see fear…. I laugh in it’s face.
Then punch it in the gut with my XS bass.
Note the hope that the world will catch up,
stays firm in my head as I try to natch up,
Underground classics going over the top.
Relate to your mates how Ruf Beats rock!!!
Lyrics C Copyright DJ Davies aka THE RUF 11/4/98
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Human beatbox - Nick Reece
TWISTED THERAPY
They sold us a lie,
I feel so trapped and twisted….
I feel
fucked off with this life ‘cos its bitter and empty
Ripped off and I don’t like - how the lies are plenty.
Work hard, play hard, rewards are minimal.
Brainwashed followers turn off subliminal
messages…..YOU WILL CONSUME all you need,
Encourage addictions, we want to be freed.
This life don’t work, nah this life don’t work.
Change this lifestyle. I’m a Son of Bazerk for saying
this
freely - Ha spot the Madman.
Our lives are hijacked, so yes the badman
is robbin’ - constantly - I don’t kid ya.
Look back, been taxed - I don’t mean figures.
- So hard to get a long, advice is missing.
Need breeding / seeding, be up for kissing -
the corporate arse, not me that is ill.
Don’t want a boring life so run of the mill.
And that’s what they sold us, since teenage days.
Keep us in our boxes it’s better that way.
And I still feel this ‘cos I still see this.
Sick of old farts saying I shouldn’t be doing this.
Music ain’t a real job, take it away -
The world is silenced - what can I say,
I’m a poet, a thief, what you want me to be.
Solutions for pollution, twisted therapy.
Agony, doubled up, ulcers killing me.
Nose starts bleeding, body in conspiracy.
Against my mind, want free of this skin.
Take me to a better place - where I might win.
Recognition of the mission might be greeted with
laughs.
But this is serious as I bleed in the bath,
the blood drops hit & dilute through water.
Just pain, no gain, old cliché’s are sort of
Wrong (ha-ha) how they sold us fairytales.
Hung us on the cross - just missing the nails.
Restrict our freedom with 9-5 rules.
2 hours commuting, why are we fools?….
Half our life, pure strife, we don’t enjoy.
Minds in gridlock. Break down now boys.
Do what you like - you can destroy programming.
I don’t want my life with meticulous planning.
Want to hear great music, see great things.
Build up my mind so I question their sins.
One man can’t change shit. The basic lie.
It takes away all purpose so I give it a try.
Reach for the stars - maximum potential
Why down to earth? Straight-jacketed, mental
patient, I am, nothings bothering me.
As bloodrops keep falling - I laugh ‘cos I’m free.
I’m free…
this twisted therapy…
Twisted…
Lyrics C Copyright THE RUF aka DJ Davies 6/5/98 6.03
am
After busting a blood vessel!
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Human beatbox - Nick Reece
Sweet twisted vocals - Marie
“GREAT” BRITISH BEEF !
So a nation of people can feel proud
about a brother who speaks out real loud.
This is the album you wanted to hear,
my quest for the perfect beat, some fear.
They cannot test this ! Will you request this ?
Everybody wants to be free on the guest list.
Everyone’s an m.c. or maybe a DJ.
Big up yourself - that’s the way it stays.
Attitude so rude, I say confused,
need for the No Room freestyle, stay tuned.
Gotta get together and enter the chamber!
Cherish our skills like that baby in manger,
Jesus Christ, skills are subtle - beautiful.
Nurturing my styles ‘cos the Ruf is dutiful,
kind, caring - don’t fit into this world.
I fight like a warrior, you fight like a girl!
so a nation of people can feel proud
about a brother who speaks out real loud!
I’m rising up divisions - not Manchester City
Proud to be me. No I don’t want your pity.
Rhymes validate this. You shouldn’t resist this.
Radio won’t play this. I raise a Ruf fist.
Kissed no botty and I won’t start now.
Force feed ya doo - doo, so how now brown cow.
Will you buy this, try this, even if you like this,
Deny this, why this - is an old rhyme!
Crime how you slept on my 1st two Lp’s.
Out on plastic & nasty CD’s.
necessary evil so many can hear this.
Self obsessed lifestyle, I don’t live this.
Just wanna tell you my truth… it’s hard
Great Britain sells a 1/5 of all arms..
& we love America, become it’s puppet.
Blair worse than Thatcher, who gives a funk,
its crazy, apathy… hey, you’ve stopped listening?
I bring you the knowledge and your mind your dissin’
…jump back dis yourself the year’s 99.
My Great British Beef designed through Ruf times!
I got 4 prejudices all working against me.
Don’t trust the media ‘cos they ain’t free.
(1.) love my accent so yes I’ve gotta use it.
(2.) might be British but my Ruf Beat bruises.
(3.) Wrong colour? Do a Jackson in reverse ?
Like the black ‘n white minstrels ( that shit was the
worse!)
(4.) “Doing hip hop is not proper music”
When the whole top 40 frequently abuse it?
Yeh right.. keep fighting infested
areas, scarier, how I drink like Best it’s
an industry party, dodge the white lines.
Deliver on deadlines little white lies.
Appear next to advert, message complete.
How can I compete - heads know Ruf Beats
Sound of money, ain’t funny… it’s sparse.
So maybe I should sell my beats from a cart!
(Steptoe & Son, - Shooting stars walk about!)
& that’s the answer from the horses mouth.
Gotta get it from this dealer, fa Real, No doubt..
Sarcasm intended, my low form of wit.
(Ill like mature fatty tryin’ to sit on your d*%$
dig diggy wiggy… nearly time to rewind this.
Spread by word of mouth so many can find this.
Thanks for support to my 400 fan base.
I’d name check you all but I ain’t got space,
just bass like Miami, beats like Purdie.
Yes it’s a crime that you might not have heard me
before, the doors are closed & I’m kickin’,
the Mindbomb will detonate ‘cos that’s our mission……
C Copyright D.J.Davies p.k.a THE RUF 25/8/98
3.40-4.25am
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
DRIP FEED ME HIP HOP
I’m on a,
roller coaster ride and my stomach has gone west.
Eyes closed, on a roll, this high is the best.
Pitch black vision but this ain’t a fairground
JD & Coke mixed with a spliff & a sound.
I’m a drugee I love the feeling it gives me
Lost in 86 based tunes when I lived the
life of a kid hangin’ on for the next fix.
Of stupid fresh tunes - an exclusive mix
on the stereo - staying up half past two.
School in the morning but what can you do
hard to hear on the radio, taping off the TV
Rakim and LL on embarrassingly
produced programmes, DJ Cheese, coast to coast
on the Old Grey Whistle test - they rocked the most.
On the Tube with Mantronix and MC Tee
At the Montrose festival with Run Dmc
Couldn’t afford much wax, TDK the saviour
Like it raw & gritty thats why Ruf’s behaviours
Unique in this age of watered down dross
I’m a dirty hip hop freak so drip feed me hip hop!
I need it in a vain direct.
Need intelligent rhymes that I can hear, respect to
Masta Ace, Mistachuck & MC Mello
Black Radicals debut - ah you slept on this my
fellows.
Well wake up - lots of hidden dope to smoke up.
Deep underground and many crews have now broke up.
I’m choked up - trying to keep my hope up.
But most US hip hop now sounds like shit!
Switch back to the days, amazed by the Tuff Crew
Low Profile with Alladdin coming through
On a rampage, and ugly people kept quiet.
Queuing up at Spin Inn ‘cos you know I had to buy it.
2 copies - number one for 6 weeks.
… checking out Ultra’s when they hit their peak.
Watching PE, at the Apollo with crew.
Twice supported by Derek B (but what can you do)
still bought his bleedin’ album (.. I was young.. I
was stupid)
The drug was badly cut & with played out loops and
er… too much of anything makes you an addict
& Doomsday of rap Hijacked the Ruf’s habit…
A passion, not a fashion, not a trend or fad.
Started making demo’s yeh many were bad
Meaning awful - trying to sound like Ice T
Braggin’ about sex when I hadn’t used my willy.
Only hand solo - should I release this fact.
Diss myself on plastic call it RUF is a Tw@T!
Get back to the story, Spinn Inn disappeared
MCR not rocking, now how I feared
dropped off the radio, Stu Allan found rave.
No hip hop in my hometown I had to save
On the rock & dole in Wythenshawe - not funny.
Many little scams just to make a likkle money.
Buying & a selling and a wheelin’ & a dealing.
Tunes through the post and many were feeling.
My taste for the bass so I set up a shop.
10 phat boxes overflowing with hip hop.
A lad from the fairs, caught me unawares
broke an agreement new shop soon there
my money helped fund the shop that destroyed Boom
Market saturated soon there was no room.
Bitter at the time ‘cos when your ideas ripped off
By dudes with more money - well, wouldn’t you be
pissed off
But hold up, (hey) let’s not get depressed.
Ruf past the test, Ruf Beats rock the best.
Corn exchange blown away by the IRA
Just as well I shut down what I say today.
Quit the Boomin’ system on the pirate station
I rocked for a year - it was called Soul Nation.
I nearly got shot by some mistaken gangster
All for hip hop love taking chance after chance
Ah .. too much, I stepped back, assessed.
Gave my drug devotion - there was nothing left.
Escape, survive, dodge the stabbing knives.
I filtered out the poison & got on with my life.
My music, my label, I create, they take.
I drip feed you hip hop and I drip feed you breaks….
C Copyright THE RUF 19/4/98 8.30am-10.30 am
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
THE “RELATIONSHIP”…
Started getting serious in 94,
Didn’t know her better when I met her before.
Just talked on the phone - it didn’t mean a thing,
She wanted my friend there, and he wanted in.
She stood on a chair, looking down on two scum,
wanting a guitar but I had a drum machine,
it gleams - now she’s getting down to it.
“Move ya head” - I’m going red, looking right through
it.
Camera lies, disguise - person I am.
Waiting for the paper next Wednesday.. damn!
Misquote me to her friends - local population,
(Ah well it’s not going out across the nation).
…all that’s to come, just in my dreams clearly,
I back down, thank her, don’t want her to fear me
in the future, I used her .. and she used me.
So is this the way that it’s going to be?
Time moves on, I gain a reputation.
Just being me on “likkle” pirate station.
She got a nasty shock, Oh surprise attack.
Heard me on the radio & thought I was black.
I said does it matter, tried to spell it out.
Told her the reasons why I’m called Rufmouth.
Took her back to school, where we used to fool,
Swore back at teachers broke them golden rules.
She smiles, winks, writes article clean.
Edit controversy ‘cos I made “Fuck the Queen”,
My expletives deleted, I got on with the job.
Meeting different ladies many sucking on my nob (!)
at first, it hurts, want me for a story,
Turn up fuck me stupid then fucking ignore me,
deplore me - some. I tend to speak my mind.
Try to open their eyes, but they’re happy being blind.
Feel like a charity, not “hero” I am.
The Ruf Northern fuck-wit’ my hip hop plan.
Style originator, check return of the DJ,
The Bomb drops Ruf & I still do it my way,
some say that’s why my relationship sticks.
My music not trendy, but I will not lick -
her fudge tunnel, I shuffle away, I don’t do that.
The Ruf goes West-ward - cos’ there is her tw@t
I want to fuck her to submission with my 17 releases,
Ram it down her throat ‘til she admits it pleases.
Unlock, relax, light a fag, check tape.
Paranoid rhymes from “the Great Escape”.
She doesn’t get it, no fret it’s.. what I expected.
My Mindbomb’s a drug and they need injecting,
late at night thru headphones, with a spliff or drink.
But she’s just too busy and it needs her to think. So
I
..slip away, get away, I feel like a whore.
Look up to the sky, sigh, what’s it all for?
(respect?).
Years go by, I try, handle it better.
I’m from Chester, Warrington, I keep seeing letters,
added to my name - leaves a bitter taste.
Put me in her listing, now I play drum and bass??!!
Never asks the right question, she gets dumb answers
Needs angles pre-written, where is the chance of,
telling her my news. Need to reach my fans.
Got lots they wanna hear, but she doesn’t understand.
Sets me up, knocks me down, gives me 3 stars ***
Wants me on keyboards, then posing on a car.
Try to phone new girls, their lines just ring.
Got no gimmicks, No PR, so no! they can’t bring
themselves outta gutter of their London streets.
The Ruf persistent bastard, so I weep but keep on
moving..
I keep sending her things, hitting her switches,
manipulate her mind with my promo 12” inches,
albums, cassettes, & even CD’s
Shaggin’ her so hard, I’ve got red raw knees,
I please, increasingly - better with time.
Dreaming of the day when I’m making her mine.
I want her to scream with high pitched delight,
dribble down my pen as I explode on the mike.
Get used to the Ruf one, get used to my mind rhymes.
Let me light your fire, you’ll be loving me long time.
UK rap saviour?! No I don’t want a tag
Five years of releases, this is hardly a fad.
Mix, write, produce and I even make the tea.
( don’t put your finger up my arse whilst I sit on
your knee)
I’m no puppet, so shut it, in case you forgot.
Just write up the facts on this brother so hot - I’m
smokin’
I don’t want fulfill my potential just yet,
cos then what the fuck would I do?
C Copyright THE RUF aka DJ DAVIES 29/4/98 one sunny pm
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
FREE WEED !
legal is tobacco - illegal is weed.
Coming from the mind of articulated thinker
Not an injector, hot headed drinker.
Rhythmic poet also known as an m.c.
Masterpiece lyrics ‘cos I own creativity
or does it own me? Genius linked
To madness definitely, I’m on the brink
Of a nervous breakdown, I need to slow down,
Cannibis assists my health all around.
When my stomach is tensed up, lung’s are clogged up
with all the pollution ‘cos the town centre’s mucked
up,
sucked up fumes and my spray might clear it.
Voice my opinion but will anyone hear it?
11,000 march, 5 million smoke it,
makes me feel me - I don’t snort coke. Its
not self importance I need to be feeling.
Want everyone to just set their minds free and
This ain’t no crime, I ain’t no criminal Jack.
Straw what’s the score, please sell me some draw -
let me smoke it raw, you know you can afford.
A thirty quid fix - get blitzed, change the law.
Whose a criminal??
legal is tobacco - illegal is weed.
I want a
natural high, if you tax it - I’ll grow it.
The Ruf’s homegrown(do I hide it or show it?)
You know it - I’m flowing with the truth you see.
Shooting down the lies coming out of the TV
E.. this ain’t ecstasy - nobody’s dead yet.
Just having fun, and that ain’t a crime yet?
Yeh you lost your daughter - I can see you care.
But I’m only unwinding, and this ain’t fair.
Could be drink driving - out starting a fight.
But I’m home making music and it feels so right,
when I light up, inhale and lose the tension.
Take my Mindbomb’s to Metacosmic Dimensions.
Positive, peaceful, so where’s the harm,
& weed didn’t leave no tracks up my arms.
legal is tobacco - illegal is weed.
I….. never got addicted to smoking a joint.
Never led to harder but I see your point.
But life’s about choices and we’re choosing life.
We want to enjoy it and we know we’re right.
Not just about money, that’s a falsehood mate.
We’ve got to grow up and all kids make mistakes
but this wouldn’t even happen if you educate.
Dismiss the myths you fix in debates,
on television (ha) real drug of the nation.
Disposable junk we’re addicted to stations.
So I get up get out - got to break this mould
The Ruf is a free MAN I don’t need to be told.
that legal is tobacco - illegal is weed.
From all this hypocrisy we need to be freed
legal is tobacco - illegal is weed
it’s time to end the hypocrisy.
LYRICS C Copyright the RUF aka DJ DAVIES.
6/4/98. Dedicated to all fighting this bollocks
especially mr nice himself for exposing the crazy
world of DEA and other assorted idiotic powers
similarly out of control.SPECIAL MENTION TO HERMAN@S
HEADSHOP AS EVEN LEGAL HIGHS ARE ILLEGAL now. GREAT
I’ll go & get pissed & twat the living crap out a
stranger.
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Intro - THE RUF & D.JOINT
Vocals - Marie
SEDUCER
Great Britain supplies 30% of the world’s arms…
SUIT YOU SIR.. we got what you need.
Great Britain - terroriser
There’s something going on in my head,
I don’t want eyes ‘cos I see death,
See the dealers watch ‘em supply,
Arms the drug but who gets high??
Business dealing, also stealing
Invisible lives, no one’s feelin’
(Pain was hidden in East Timor)
It’ll happen again ‘cos it’s happened before.
Media tools seem so unable,
Open your eyes, turn the tables.
Sunrise in the East - soon be setting,
New markets open - people forgetting.
No one hears the whispers of death,
Except the square that we weren’t meant
to see….. yeah… Man stopped Machine.
Oppression’s worldwide this ain’t no dream.
I’ve seen the future, the future’s red,
We self-destruct ‘cos our souls are dead.
SUIT YOU SIR - we got what you need.
Terroriser..
So… get your fighters in Air fix kits,
(buy ten and get five free with it!!).
This business sells - people to hell,
supplying tools of torture as well.
Export stun guns to mad dictators,
grabbing money - conscience forsaken.
Losing subs, H Bombs whole.
Uncanny ineptitude, (mankinds own goals).
Trident system, millions poured.
Its a lie that the cold wars thawed.
Currency changing, pounds and pence.
Buying British - you know it makes sense!
Arms mean money, money means jobs,
Jobs means another life is lost -
…..Somewhere… somehow…. sometime….
We arm the world for no peace of mind ??
(it’s insanity)
Arm the world -
Or free your mind.
Great Britain, terrorizer,
We got what you need
We got what you need.
C Copyright D.J.Davies a.k.a. THE RUF 30/7/97 5am.
Inspired by TIMEZONES “world destruction” / John
Pilger & Mindbomb’s main influence Bill Hicks (pick up
the gun!)
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Live one take Human beatbox - Nick Reece
IN THE BEGINNING (instrumental)
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
DECONSTRUCTION OF FALLING STARS
So… where do we fit into this cosmic scheme
Glipse in dawn moments - a haze filled dream
or is it? I don’t hold all the answers.
React to facts, the only chance of .
deciphering truth, proofs hard to find.
Bury in deceit of the ultimate lie
Survive in this earth zone, we aren’t alone
Just flesh and bone, co-habiting our home
They’re already here 3rd rock from the sun
been monitoring our progress since our lives begun.
So it’s on, the race to find faith, our Gods
all the same entity we somehow forgot.
Split by the devil, he comes in many sizes.
Raper and racist with many disguises.
The evil that men do create our own hell.
If we populate space heaven dies as well.
We’re not ready, unsteady, humankind evolved
Only to infants as the story unfolds.
We’re all just leaves on the story tree.
2000AD we’re still not free.
A savage mentality, we’re all just beasts
Souls are cold grown to selfish feats.
Unparalleled, obnoxious - mankind’s power.
Devours this planet as the countdown hour
approaches…. Deconstruction of a falling star…
Watching all systems in this world machine
Interface, cross reference download, I need
a break from the web. Databases link up
8 hours on a PC - not me - got to think up
original material, create, use cells.
Find peace of mind, the ideas swell.
Caught in the rat race, no way to live.
Everyone wants to take you just seem to give.
A bio-mechanical landscape rules.
9-5 pre-programmed.. we look like fools.
Automatic pilot so we’re looking like zombies.
The Borg an idea that was taken from the
fact that our enemies are manifestations
of our own dark secrets hidden through nations.
The pentacle devours its elements - US
Separate to our fate - no country trusts.
The other, we smother, last rays of light.
The struggle for peace is our greatest fight.
…deconstruction of a falling star.
Makes no sense.
Humankind forgot how to be human, as we kill each
other.
Proving our insignificance…
in the cosmic scheme, we are nothing.
So escape this…
Come fall into my dimension..
Mindbomb.
Lyrics C Copyright D.J. Davies p.k.a THE RUF 6/4/98
1.11am
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
HARDCORE SUN STORM (instrumental)
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Work like a slave 2 become a master!
This is a reflection of how the Ruf’s feeling
Rising to a status of which you’ve been dreaming
Well dream on, ‘cos since I’ve begun, you’ve done fuck
all
Still you wait for my back to turn - then call
me names, little boy, you better grow up quick
or return to suckling on your… Mummy’s tits.
So get off mine, jealousy is such a wack virtue.
No barrier on earth stops the Ruf comin’ thru’
clear, Krispy, clean - but still ruffneck,
Check me on the mic & I rip up the decks.
Jack of all trades and master of 3.
But the Ruf will not fall off, I ain’t no Young m.c.
Wack LP, from me.. hmmm, mistaken are you
You been taking LSD? sniffing crazy glue?
I thought so, I knew so, the Ruf knows your game.
Moan about raps demise but your partly to blame.
I get up off my arse, drop tons of funky doo doo
And shit all on your heads… yeahh a few do
complain, “he’s educating my brain, it can’t take it!”
Where’s your spunk you funk, do you come or do you
fake it?
Taste this crazy jizm, it’s the fruit of my labour
I’m so ill, but I’m still UK hip hop’s saviour.
behaviour Bolshi, backed by positivity,
Live in this country, but do I have to go see
the doctor..Who?…. I ain’t mad or bloody mental,
I’m a hip hop lover on maximum potential
Setting, are you sweating, let me wipe your brow
Lobotomise your head, see if somehow
I can replace your negative, pea-sized brain.
You want my life, with no strife, and without pain -
not possible, I rock you all because of this mixture.
I work, you rest, I play - so who wins this fixture,
It’s the.. unstoppable m.c., so come see me.
Don’t step up to test cos you know you can’t be me.
…..Don’t grab the mike, try to steal a little fame,
No one will respect you ‘cos your attitudes lame.
There’s no shortcut’s, no fast bucks, unless you lick
arse
Sample the Police keep stealing from the art.
Will you put back like Chuck D or Afrika Bambaataa
I doubt that, cos your wack… the rooms gone darker?
Who turned off the lights I can’t see .. am I dead???
Ah simple error - take the shades off my head.
Like you all must, dissect the words and the meaning
I work like a slave to be the Ruf and yes I’m dreaming
my life…
Instigator, commentator on Return of the DJ
Invented Jeep beat, who’ve done more scratching today
than any other, I smother the mike within Mindbomb’s
Check Trippin thru the minefield Volumes 2 and 1.
have fun, sussin’ samples hand picked by the Rufsta
Run down all my work, even catalogue numbers.
Succumb to the fact my talent’s detonating,
I write, produce and mix all my music complicated..
Is the life, a quick shout to my crew on the Hitlist.
Unaware of this ? well check it out quick - & don’t
dismiss
this.. hear this, take a pen write down address.
RUF BEATS 118 please don’t mess
up the spelling of ALTRINCHAM or even county CHESHIRE
WA15 6AX… I suggest ya
do it quickly, or be sickly lacking true hip hop
product.
The Ruf replacing culture in your body like a yoghurt
Bio - that is, I’m purely natural and tasty.
Flava I omit is such a hit - it can waste the
Minds of the youth, if you just open I’ll bomb.
I’ve passed all tests like KRS yes I’m number one!
LYRICS C Copyright D.J.Davies a.k.a. THE RUF 14 &
15/8/97.
Respect is still overdue to this devastating mc big up
meself, me trousers and the whole damn intense one man
hip hop army.
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Backing rhymes : Jay Jordan
Produce the Friction
We gotta do something drastic!!!
Produce the friction, that’s the mission
Great British Beef, that’s why I’m dissin’
This whole system, so come on listen
to the Mindbomb drops, beats quicken.
Hit the targets, cause ‘em harm it’s
part of reason don’t aim for markets.
Want to produce pure perfect music.
Your taste is perfect - it’s why you choose this
another Ruf Beat exposing fakes.
Rebounding rhymes off walls in place.
Yes I’ll break them, not forsaken,
the pain I’ve gained on the path I’ve taken.
Coming from soul - 100%.
Words from the heart ‘cos the words are meant.
Hear the feelings, my subjects matter.
Media’s soul-less, yes I’ll batter.
Where’s the feature, where’s the truth kid
If you don’t hear this, what’s the use this
Lazy cancer, destroy my heart.
Gotta react so come on take part and..
Produce the Frikshun.
Come on join this, be my fan base.
If you don’t hear this, what a waste
It’s beat perfection. They place in sections
Music’s music, Ruf Beats selections
Kill competition - they out sell me
Poo all over them, they can smell me.
So damn funky I know you relate.
Life is crap, make the great escape!
Hazardous journey, the trip that made me.
Cool sex pistol so come God Save Me
Still wanna little bit of anarchy.
Return of the Ruf well do you wanna be free
or what?? I…
Produce the Frikshun.
The world may catch up, systems mashed up,
Everyone’s rippin’ everybody’s cash off.
Teach the lesson’s, no-one’s messing
Ruf producer of Jeep Beat sessions.
Drop the A Bomb, shows are ‘nuff fun.
Come to party, no bad boys, guns.
Talkin’ nuff bull, we don’t need it.
Truth is lacking - the truth needs freeing.
Impeach the government, this fine nation.
Run by the SUCCESSOR GENERATION.
See the pictures, connect the faces.
Correct reality - we live in places,
surround by apathy, I can’t take this.
Mankind unite in the fight, displace this.
Caring ain’t soft kid - I’m the man here
Party for your right to fight & don’t fear,
Hit the streets, write letter to MP,
Join the jam if you want to be free. let’s
Produce the Frikshun.
Dedicated to the late great Bill Hicks
Thanks to John Pilger - one of the few great
journalists left (Check page 96,“Hidden Agenda’s”)
C Copyright D.J.Davies p.k.a THE RUF 11/11/98 11.08pm
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
Human Beatbox : Nick Reece
We need to snap out of this endless apathy,
This consumerism bliss is a lie.
We have little time for each other baby, less cash,
more stress & more bloody useless possessions.
180 companies have carved up the world between them.
Countries are no longer free from this market driven
terrorism.
The West has invaded all territories with it’s
tasteless culture.
The media tells us how to think & justifies these
invasions.
We sink into a deeper state of mind slavery.
So no the revolution will not be televised.
Eastenders & Jerry Springer will not be interrupted.
We live our lives watching soaps emersing ourselves in
the hot bath fact that despite everything, we don’t
live that low.
Turn the TV off, interact, talk, express, press your
own buttons!
Get up, get into it, get involved..
Just wanna fuck
Well I was….Sitting in my armchair watching late night
T.V.
Flicking through channels and soft core pornography.
Oh No .. it’s the music of an 0898 & women in showers
they always look great.
Got a very naughty feeling cos a week has gone by
No sexual release and the reason why
She’s not in the mood , or she’s watching a soap
Or you’re both incapable - too much dope
How d’ya cope just the hope of a little relief
Grab your favourite magazine and the tissues you keep
nearby. Readers wives don’t impress so flick back
Dodge mature fatties, read some letters - fact
or fiction.. I dunno. Yes my minds mucky
Wanna piece of this like Kylie I should be so lucky.
My hormones be bubbling, my mind is obsessed
A little voice starts chanting in case I forget that
I……
Now I’m …. getting frisky on whiskey that’s followed
some beer
Spliff lifts my mind and voices I hear.
Samantha Janus I’m patting her anus … lovely!
Eating wine gums off the tummy of Scully!
Martina Hengis on court - tugging the net.
Was it in or was it out, as she calls a let.
I’m stroking my knees like my name’s Vic Reeves,
on ladies night with Ulrika, if only.. please
I’m dreaming of encounters with Brookside’s Beth
And Princess Leia, no man can forget. Together in
leather, & in my home! Fantasy’s so real that I’m
going to explode, cos I….
I dunno ….. am I greedy wanting quality, quantity
In alarming places with increasing frequency
In parks after dark or deserted trains.
Toilet compartments in clubs and planes.
Insane these urges but we’re only beasts
Boys and girls - blurred reality, freaks
what we are, gone far, cos of reproduction.
Talking about sex not complicated seduction.
Surrounded by sex.. keeps raising it’s head.
I want it in the hall, in the kitchen, on beds,
or floors, get raw, knees burnt with friction.
Bodies on fire see the red raw diction.
Don’t wanna sound perverted - but I am so tough.
Lesbian avengers tend to flock round Ruf -
in my dreams, get down & I’m nibbling your bits…
I’m just like most men ‘cos most men talk shit !
C Copyright D.J. Davies 5/7/97
The Wonderful World of Alcohol !
So here I am then (yeeeh) know I’m invincible
Drunk 6 pints now I’m irresistible.
The ultimate Ultra-fanny magnet MC
eyes bloodshot - trousers sprinkled with wee wee
Followed all the trends, what to be drinking.
Thunderbirds when 14, what was I thinking?
It was cheap it was nasty.. like my first lay.
Mixed with Holsten pils but I’m here today.
Friends on the Special Brew - I drew the line there.
“Ya startin’” mates parting & I don’t care
for that. What pratts, no love, no unity.
Many of the sights I saw pure lunacy.
Head bang the concrete ‘cos of lost loves.
Kids getting glassed over a push and a shove.
This wonderful world, expanding all ego’s.
Woman cat-fighting over men in disco’s….
whats that all about???
Pulling hair, scratch and tear - it just amuses.
Love lives when your drunk tend to get confusing.
Grass is always greener, girls seem keener.
Think you got away with a misdemeanour,
not so, your sussed, your woman’s disgust.
Betrayed her trust for a suck of a bust.
Of the Super Disco Hooker, you know who I mean.
Only make love to her alone in your dreams.
What’s the point, a joint seems better today,
when you shag it’s amazing - well that’s what I say.
You’ve drunk so much you can’t keep ya erection,
Just as well you fell asleep ‘cos you had no
protection
Mr Blobby, ya floppy, soppy, flacid.
Your hanging off the speaker and your shouting
ACCCIIIIEEED
I’ve been there, I’ve done it, & I wrote the rhyme.
The Ruf there’s no Chic when we want a good time.
High octane cider gets you out of your tree.
Not blasted on Acid or LSD.
Smoke a lot, drink a little, keep control.
Gone past the days of acting an arsehole..
nah, not really, there’s always a chance,
go back mixing drinks and it’s time to dance.
I’m John fucking Travolta & it’s Saturday Night.
At The End & my set well it’s feelin’ alright.
Throw on my jam it’s MC Mello gone crazy.
Pogo on the floor with my punk rock baby….
Suffer in the morning, that’s the routine.
Walk around London eat breakfast obscene.
Greasy fry up, try keeping it down.
headache keeps banging, at the slightest sound.
This wonderful world, makes you so feeble.
And all the time my weed’s illegal.
Mr Nice, your right, let’s march & smoke so
Welcome to the wonderful world of dope.
Beer monsters, I sponsor you to cease,
Learn how to party, stop causing beef.
Great British Beef : that is.
England’s dream… pissed up the wall.
Our only legal way out of a mediocre existence
Cool but boring in moderation.
Turns you into a killer at the wheel.
Unnaturally chemically altered depressant,
dressed up and sold in it’s emperor’s new clothes..
to seem essential to life!
C Copyright THE RUF .. D.j. Davies 6/7/98
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
CREDITS
All tracks written, recorded, scratched, rhymed and
produced in the bog from Sept 98 through to Feb 99 by
D.J.Davies p.k.a THE RUF.
Mastered at Abbey Rd 9/3/99 by Mr 99% Adam Nunn.
THE RUF was helped by some proper friends…
Rhyme back up on 11 & 13 by Jay Jordan
Raw beat boxing by Nick Reece on tracks 1 / 7 / 12 /
15
Crazy intro by Eddie Clarkson on track 6
Mellow vocals by Marie Lawrence on tracks 2 & 6
Original artwork by TEMPER.
We want to “hear great music & see great things”..
Stand for something or fall for anything.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Record shoppin’…
Diggin’ in the crates like my name was Diamond.
Fingers kinda dusty but you know I’m smiling.
Found another classic forgotten by many.
People are so feeble but trends rarely tempt me.
Flicking through the wax 100 titles per minute.
Wading through the crap in bargain bins
It’s my music madness I recycle old grooves.
Painstaking process - I fuse NOT use
Many have forsaken this art - got lazy.
May be the reason new rap don’t amaze me.
Loop an old tune on SP1200,
computer generated drum kits plundered
from a CD, not me. My mind a library
30 thousand sounds all yelling “come find me”!
Indexed in a way I can’t comprehend.
Subconscious involved & mood now sends
nerve ends thoughts, complicated procedure.
Crying for a dark bass, now how I need ya.
…ah that’s better THE RUF’s no computer.
I blend influences and many might suit ya,
Many amuse ya - beats will abuse ya,
Physically, mentally, sounds confuse ya.
Proud of my collection it’s part of my soul,
not just a possession ‘cos the lesson’s they own
me and my mind with some magic spell.
I love my music Hey Joe can you tell??
No limits / restrictions - rules for fools.
Eclectic a tag but an open mind’s cool
and essential to keep the beats mental,
of varied pace and with my unique taste.
Crossing every section - intrepid explorer
Hogging the decks I’m a dirty wax hoarder.
Can’t afford?? Well can I exchange?
Sellin’ Sony promo’s that sound the same
To afford my next fix, Benny Hill bought,
a big bag of breaks - at this art I was taught
by self… and other Dj’s hound me.
Try to buy Love City for twenty five pounds he-
He-he only cost me 20p
Gotta give a shout to Les & King Bee.
Dawn used to take me, how the racks raped me,
50 quid for two hours work if ya get me.
Music my whore, Dawn dragged me out the door.
1 hour later covers over the floor.
30 second theatre, I’m cramming my head.
Playing all the rockers soon I’ll wake in bed.
Constructing the next Mindbomb.. OH PLEASE
Can’t I just sleep! .. it’s a funky disease.
So yes I’m a record shop junkie.
I’m jumping up & down like a PG Tips monkey.
But sadly, the scene has gone badly..
it’s just not the same in HMV!
No supernova, the Boom is over,
I’m not checking bins with a fine tooth comb - Er
not funny, can’t spend no money..
& all that you can get for a quid is Kaleef.
Exchanges know the values, no longer blind.
Every decent tune is now hard to find.
£25 quid, 20 copies they’ve filed,
tunes for the future they’re all stockpiled.
I smile.. see it’s re-issued good.
Music’s for the people, why I think you should
get down on Ruf Beats and buy this direct.
Save yourself some dosh & get extra inject…ions
…from me… and DON’T BE COCK.
The best wax seller on Planet Rock
is the RRRR .. and that’s the way it is.
No Jason Nevins ‘cos my raps the business.
Music from the heart for your mind, sublime.
Request in my tribe, for your beats and rhymes.
And Life’s what you make it so support it.
Or watch your best hope, go down the toilet.
C Copyright THE RUF aka DJ Davies 5/7/98
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
HOME TRUTHS
Alarm ringing… nah birds singing,
5 in the morning and my senses ringing.
Cold, aching and my eyes are bloodshot -
result of a session, I’m smoking a lot
these days, behave like beat freak I am
Party so hard - I’m suffering damn
More sex & drugs on the rock and dole.
Climbed out of that cesspit up the slippery pole
my life, it’s strife, many won’t see it
Many are jealous cos they could never be it.
I’ve worked like a slave - but that’s another jam
Now the hardcore fans know the Ruf is the man.
The boy to entertain you with the truth see
the media wanna tap me for all the juicy
Gossip hot gossip makes the world go round.
The truth is out there but it can’t be found.
‘Cos no one’s arsed when the lies read better
Journalists are writers - think they’re trendsetters
I’ve been there did it Represent & Downlow.
Afrika Bambaataa, Krispy 3 & MC Mello
Interviews, reviews, packed full of truths
many edited out hey Have I got news for you
Without Bam Ruf wouldn’t be a poet
There might be hip hop - but not as we know it,
captain - it’s sad after Planet Rock’s ages
The founder gets cut to a mere 2 pages
When a new jack, I laugh at, on a major release
advertises on the back gets single of the week.
OK… I exaggerate .. or do I? Check.
Yes I’m bloody bitter - arse, gals, drink, feck!!!!
I’m going all the way, even if I don’t make it
I won’t steal ideas ‘cos THE RUF never fakes it
Wrath of Ruf Wrecktified I rock the house.
You stole my DJ sets but I mix it with my mouth…
Ahhhhh swell - I’m back to basics.
Ruf beats droppin’ bomb’s in crazy mad places.
For money to survive or free for some promo
Loz had no backbone so I’m doing this solo -
Couldn’t even rhyme and I can play you the demo
Ripped me off a grand and exploded his ego.
Ho ho funny - can’t trust shit these days.
Drove ‘em round the country and they always got paid
When I did - not enough though, you’re acting like
stars
But 99% of this was the RR’s
Never helped detonate - you smuthered my bomb
Not up for rehearsing, where’s my freestyle fun.
So I’m shootin’ down to London for my freestyle fix
With Mr Disorda with a spliff on the mix.
Music is my life - you can’t take that away.
THE RUF commentating on the day today.
I’m JEEP BEAT COLLECTIVE with special guest friends
So my mind keeps bombing ‘cos this ain’t the end
The doors might be closed but I knock em all down
With phat boxes of wax and the Ruf Beats sound
Boom zero zero one to R.U.F. twenty,
Have I got dope tunes??? Yeh mate I have plenty!
Where you bloody been you can buy it from me.
Ruf Beats everytime save 99p
Not a US import warpin’ wax with shrinkwrap
Don’t put on no voice ‘cos I know where I’m at.
Get the dissin out my system - the truth’s been told
No time for bullshit, little boys never hold
me hostage, ostrich, kebab -its dense.
That’s how little your actions make sense….
Little boys.. you just annoy,
hear the home truths..
C Copyright DJ Davies 27/3/98 5.30 am
Written, recorded & produced by THE RUF
People will always betray your trust.
We are brought up often in this country as emotional
cripples. Ashamed to admit to our feelings - taught to
keep it all in until it explodes in a uncontrolled,
miss directed mess. Or even easier - just hide those
feelings as deep as possible.
So what do you do?
When a brother’s greed overtakes his pride.
Or worse still when a brother can’t even admit to you
he’s fucked up? When you’ve relentlessly promoted a
crew of 3 - when really one was doing all the work,
and then, just as it was important to stay together,
they let all that hard work just disintegrate.
The truth is hard to take but I’ve never been let down
as much in my life.
But I won’t stop trusting people - that would make me
as emotionally dead as the rest of them.
So.. as in the beginning the Mindbomb is returned to
one.
FINAL BEEF
(controlled close)..
The end of a chapter, the end of a tale,
The end of my hope, the last days of the sales..
Everything sold out, all assets go cheap.
Time now to leave it behind and just keep
memories of a life, I was warned not to take.
The pathway of Tradegy where no soul gets a break.
They don’t reward artists, well not until they’re
dead,
unless you paint pictures people want instead.
I spoke to a wise man, well he thought he was wise.
He said “are you making money” with a blank look, my
eyes
drop once again to the floor with a sigh.
“My art comes with soul and my soul you can’t buy”.
He’d heard this before, smiled, and powdered his nose.
Watched how he tensed and then ego’s explode.
I listened…. but I know already I am my own worst
enemy,
I need passion not fashion and few images soothe me.
These years were not wasted I walked with some grace.
Warmed up some hearts, put a few smiles on your face.
Did what I wanted and these days that’s rare.
But it’s time now to go before this soul might tear.
This is one game where the best will not win,
rules are so fixed…. a few years does you in.
I thank some for your love, many more for your hate.
I laugh at my past and my so great escape,
from living the lie that this is all you can do.
You can’t be yourself when the machine controls you. |
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