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