The Nosebleed Section Lyrics
| Song | The Nosebleed Section |
| Artist | Hilltop Hoods |
| Album | Triple J's Hottest 100, Volume 11 |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| For my people in the front | |
| In the nosebleed section | |
| [Verse One - Suffa] | |
| This is for the headsets loving the mix, | |
| My people in the front, all covered in spit, | |
| Batters in the box, (oww) Suffa to pitch, (what?) | |
| Hilltop Hoods, all up in this bitch, | |
| And we the funk leaders, punks you can't beat us, | |
| We bump and pump meters, we drunk you chumps need us, | |
| So jump with us, down in the front if it's, | |
| (If it's your flavour) your flavour come get drunk with us, (woo). | |
| This life turned out nothing like | |
| I had planned, why not? | |
| By now I should've had some land, | |
| Some money in my hand, round about fifty grand, | |
| But I got nothing, (nothing,) I write rhymes on the bus, | |
| I keep suffering; (suffering), fuck the lines of the dust, | |
| You keep sniffing, that shit is for the punk hoes, | |
| This shit is for my bros, my people in the front row. | |
| [Verse Two - Suffa] | |
| I got hip-hop taste buds, | |
| I wanna hear that bass when I make love, | |
| I wanna hear some lyrics when I wake up, | |
| Write rhymes to get me through a break up, bitch! | |
| Rough like whisky straight, no chaser, | |
| Went through fifty breaks, no flavour, | |
| Till I found this one, and made the, | |
| Bass hook with the drum, my saviour, | |
| This is the comeback, tongue that's sharp like a thumbtack, | |
| It's so tight James is saying give my funk back, | |
| One track, eight track, a-dat, residual | |
| Noise, man fuck that, we clean with the digital, | |
| Toys I'm the Apache, you're failing to match me, | |
| Throw your hands in the air like you're hailing a taxi, | |
| And move to the funk flow, you stepping? Are you drunk bro? | |
| This is for my peeps and the freaks in the front row. | |
| [Verse Three - Suffa] | |
| People don't complain if Suffa's in here, | |
| And you're in the front row, all covered in beer, | |
| And club owners don't say ‘the place is wrecked it's your fault', (uh uh), | |
| If the roof is on fire it's an electrical fault, (woo), | |
| Man I bet you all bolt, when I bring it live | |
| Like Friday night footy, in my hoody can hide I, | |
| Gets live on the breaks son, like pace one, | |
| Lads, if you're heading to the bar grab your mates one, | |
| Ladies come chill, come rock with me honey, | |
| I got like half a mill in monopoly money, | |
| There's no stopping me honey, so you can take my hand, | |
| We can lay on the beach and count grains of sand, | |
| Or take a plane to Japan, and drink saki with mafia, | |
| Fly to Libya for some Bacardi with Gadafi a | |
| Dinner date, followed by a funk show, (uhh,) | |
| We'll rip off our tops and jump around in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I'd know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I'd know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| Put me here, and I'm all yours, | |
| Not for the money and it's not for the applause, no oh no no no | |
| It's for the nosebleed section. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I'd know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I'd know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. |
| For my people in the front | |
| In the nosebleed section | |
| Verse One Suffa | |
| This is for the headsets loving the mix, | |
| My people in the front, all covered in spit, | |
| Batters in the box, oww Suffa to pitch, what? | |
| Hilltop Hoods, all up in this bitch, | |
| And we the funk leaders, punks you can' t beat us, | |
| We bump and pump meters, we drunk you chumps need us, | |
| So jump with us, down in the front if it' s, | |
| If it' s your flavour your flavour come get drunk with us, woo. | |
| This life turned out nothing like | |
| I had planned, why not? | |
| By now I should' ve had some land, | |
| Some money in my hand, round about fifty grand, | |
| But I got nothing, nothing, I write rhymes on the bus, | |
| I keep suffering suffering, fuck the lines of the dust, | |
| You keep sniffing, that shit is for the punk hoes, | |
| This shit is for my bros, my people in the front row. | |
| Verse Two Suffa | |
| I got hiphop taste buds, | |
| I wanna hear that bass when I make love, | |
| I wanna hear some lyrics when I wake up, | |
| Write rhymes to get me through a break up, bitch! | |
| Rough like whisky straight, no chaser, | |
| Went through fifty breaks, no flavour, | |
| Till I found this one, and made the, | |
| Bass hook with the drum, my saviour, | |
| This is the comeback, tongue that' s sharp like a thumbtack, | |
| It' s so tight James is saying give my funk back, | |
| One track, eight track, adat, residual | |
| Noise, man fuck that, we clean with the digital, | |
| Toys I' m the Apache, you' re failing to match me, | |
| Throw your hands in the air like you' re hailing a taxi, | |
| And move to the funk flow, you stepping? Are you drunk bro? | |
| This is for my peeps and the freaks in the front row. | |
| Verse Three Suffa | |
| People don' t complain if Suffa' s in here, | |
| And you' re in the front row, all covered in beer, | |
| And club owners don' t say ' the place is wrecked it' s your fault', uh uh, | |
| If the roof is on fire it' s an electrical fault, woo, | |
| Man I bet you all bolt, when I bring it live | |
| Like Friday night footy, in my hoody can hide I, | |
| Gets live on the breaks son, like pace one, | |
| Lads, if you' re heading to the bar grab your mates one, | |
| Ladies come chill, come rock with me honey, | |
| I got like half a mill in monopoly money, | |
| There' s no stopping me honey, so you can take my hand, | |
| We can lay on the beach and count grains of sand, | |
| Or take a plane to Japan, and drink saki with mafia, | |
| Fly to Libya for some Bacardi with Gadafi a | |
| Dinner date, followed by a funk show, uhh, | |
| We' ll rip off our tops and jump around in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| Put me here, and I' m all yours, | |
| Not for the money and it' s not for the applause, no oh no no no | |
| It' s for the nosebleed section. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. |
| For my people in the front | |
| In the nosebleed section | |
| Verse One Suffa | |
| This is for the headsets loving the mix, | |
| My people in the front, all covered in spit, | |
| Batters in the box, oww Suffa to pitch, what? | |
| Hilltop Hoods, all up in this bitch, | |
| And we the funk leaders, punks you can' t beat us, | |
| We bump and pump meters, we drunk you chumps need us, | |
| So jump with us, down in the front if it' s, | |
| If it' s your flavour your flavour come get drunk with us, woo. | |
| This life turned out nothing like | |
| I had planned, why not? | |
| By now I should' ve had some land, | |
| Some money in my hand, round about fifty grand, | |
| But I got nothing, nothing, I write rhymes on the bus, | |
| I keep suffering suffering, fuck the lines of the dust, | |
| You keep sniffing, that shit is for the punk hoes, | |
| This shit is for my bros, my people in the front row. | |
| Verse Two Suffa | |
| I got hiphop taste buds, | |
| I wanna hear that bass when I make love, | |
| I wanna hear some lyrics when I wake up, | |
| Write rhymes to get me through a break up, bitch! | |
| Rough like whisky straight, no chaser, | |
| Went through fifty breaks, no flavour, | |
| Till I found this one, and made the, | |
| Bass hook with the drum, my saviour, | |
| This is the comeback, tongue that' s sharp like a thumbtack, | |
| It' s so tight James is saying give my funk back, | |
| One track, eight track, adat, residual | |
| Noise, man fuck that, we clean with the digital, | |
| Toys I' m the Apache, you' re failing to match me, | |
| Throw your hands in the air like you' re hailing a taxi, | |
| And move to the funk flow, you stepping? Are you drunk bro? | |
| This is for my peeps and the freaks in the front row. | |
| Verse Three Suffa | |
| People don' t complain if Suffa' s in here, | |
| And you' re in the front row, all covered in beer, | |
| And club owners don' t say ' the place is wrecked it' s your fault', uh uh, | |
| If the roof is on fire it' s an electrical fault, woo, | |
| Man I bet you all bolt, when I bring it live | |
| Like Friday night footy, in my hoody can hide I, | |
| Gets live on the breaks son, like pace one, | |
| Lads, if you' re heading to the bar grab your mates one, | |
| Ladies come chill, come rock with me honey, | |
| I got like half a mill in monopoly money, | |
| There' s no stopping me honey, so you can take my hand, | |
| We can lay on the beach and count grains of sand, | |
| Or take a plane to Japan, and drink saki with mafia, | |
| Fly to Libya for some Bacardi with Gadafi a | |
| Dinner date, followed by a funk show, uhh, | |
| We' ll rip off our tops and jump around in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| Put me here, and I' m all yours, | |
| Not for the money and it' s not for the applause, no oh no no no | |
| It' s for the nosebleed section. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. | |
| You know, I looked around, the faces I' d know, | |
| I fell in love with the people in the front row. |
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