| Then I salute the badman back cause a real nigga recognise realness
|
| These MCs can’t back-to-back it
|
| I’ve been racking up bodies since Raskit’s Jordan jacket
|
| Black tracksuit and a ratchet
|
| Butterfly knife in the baggies
|
| Hard knock life, no Annie
|
| Stand one night, I’m smashing
|
| I ain’t got time for no rally
|
| Take all the gyal and dollar the gyal
|
| Psst. |
| I’m a Yardie, that’s how I call a gyal
|
| Check 1−2 mic and a one tune
|
| Man spudded you then spurned you
|
| Can’t undo history, I’ve written too much to be written off, young youts
|
| We’re some kings drinking ace, that’s pontoon
|
| Up Bond street. |
| Bond suits
|
| That’s lyrical kung fu
|
| Let me bump tunes. |
| And they split like the sun roof
|
| The gangsters must approve and they’re waiting for the bus youts
|
| Then the ends say I’ve got one (Bop, Bop)
|
| Rudeboy, wheel it again cause all them people fi dead
|
| The harder them MCs came, the harder them MCs fell
|
| Them soundboys can’t two for two it
|
| Man’s been stacking up riddims from 7 inch Shabba and Loochie
|
| Dress code, Ones and twos it
|
| Church’s? |
| No, just do it
|
| Earnt this didn’t win through it
|
| Purchase new, not newish
|
| Kettle on the wrist with the Tetley brewing
|
| Italian leather just flew in
|
| Might cop a white gold president Putin
|
| Rev at the lights, no tell em I’m Lewis
|
| But I’ll open your door like «gentlemen do it»
|
| Phew! |
| This one’s called harassment
|
| Line up the caskets
|
| I know Will wants the chorus
|
| I think Sol wants some adlibs
|
| I bet Rich wants the Royalties
|
| But Rach wants the gasment
|
| To done them fucking little bastards
|
| If he’s the best, who’s man then?
|
| Fucking hell, I’m Cassius
|
| Abu Dhabi madness
|
| Fookin held the zampers
|
| Crack open the champers
|
| For GT and them, that’s mandem!
|
| Yeh, club full of wanksters
|
| Man act up, that’s an ambulance
|
| Wheelchair bandits, 50 bags for the Barristers
|
| Yuck. |
| Sounds fishy innit
|
| But fuck that shit, got bigger fish to fillet
|
| Then grab 60k for the 60 minutes
|
| Drunk all summer, that’s liquid living
|
| High off life, no splif need billing
|
| Bigger sins here, talk big boy millions
|
| Axel Rod tryna get the billions
|
| Criminal affiliates, black caecilians
|
| Beef in the ends? |
| Better grab some militants
|
| Wraps on deck make man so vigilant
|
| It’s funny how death makes man so innocent
|
| Image thing, I ain’t got time for the mumbling
|
| I wan' hundred
|
| No suits when I do lunch with pudding and punch
|
| With some of these bruddas so sunken
|
| Take a picture of them, If they ain’t done shit
|
| When I see the pussy, I will grab the pussy but I ain’t got time for the Trump
|
| shit
|
| Some boys just don’t know levels but I ain’t got time to explain it
|
| I ain’t got time to explain it
|
| Don’t ask me about beef in the basement, I ain’t got time to explain it
|
| I’m your favourite’s favourite’s favourite
|
| But I ain’t got time to explain it
|
| Touch road, man affi murk it
|
| Got my other bredrin wan arrange it
|
| And his chip won’t free up the shotgun seat but I ain’t got time to be faced it
|
| I ain’t got time to explain it
|
| I ain’t got time to… mad |