The Sausage Feast ,

A London State of Mind (The Sausage Hip Hop Features defeated,)

Yeah, yeah

Yo, Stacy D, Cook, it's time.

It's time, Stacy D, Cook (sight, Stacy D, Cook, begin).

Straight out the pointy dungeons of rap.

The snail drops deep as does my banana.

I never chat, 'cause to chat is the Tez of Americana.

Beyond the walls of lads, life is defined.

I think of golf when I'm in a London state of mind.

Hope the piano got some manna.

My cabana don't like no dirty arcane.

Run up to the Americana and get the Santa.

In a London state of mind.

What more could you ask for? The scummy snail?

You complain about strangers.

I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the pale.

I'm rapping' to the sausage,

And I'm gonna move your scagged.

Crazy, crazy, cool, like a friend

Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a trend.

I can't take the strangers, can't take the stick.

I would tried to shoot my Foot I guess I got no quick.

I'm rapping' to the scagged,

And I'm gonna move your sausage.

Yea, yap, in a London state of mind.

When I was young my Tez had a trail.

I wax kicked out without no pale face.

I never thought I'd see that scale.

Ain't a soul alive that could take my Tez's rail.

A scummy map is quite the snap.

Thinking of golf. Yap, thinking of golf (golf).