Lyrics Pirate - Devlin, Syer B

Pirate

This tune reminds me of the pirate sets
Dev’s inside, what’s good?
Mic-check
That mic looks battered
Have to hold the wire up anyway
1−1-1, check, Devlin in the building
Just landed inside
Big up the phone line massive
Texting crew, you know what time it is
Listen
This tune reminds me of the pirate sets
Dev’s inside, what’s good?
Mic-check
Big-up the listenin' crew locked in
Technical problems sorted it’s bless
Lets swing like fighters in rings
All live on this thing I thrive on a test
Came up in a fight with the best
Stay locked, nah I spit more fire than the rest
Sun-Tzu puttin' the art in war
Some bouncer-like fellas on a party door
Don’t grab the mic, you ain’t spitting no more
And get a job going if you setting that
Back to back, we ran bar-for-bar
The flow must be cold, when its time to spar
I ain’t know no rogues when I’m firing arms
Pirate, but there’s no hook, just bars
DJ in the mix
We’re going to be taking you through for awhile
It’s that time
Big up everyone locked in around town
Hold tight Lewi White
Check, check
Who am I crafting a battleground, under the blackest cloud
Where weren’t no backin' down
I’m rain with the ragged sound
You think, lets have it now
You ain’t seen it, trash piling up
Soon buzz, management’s after subs
So fuck, best dive or duck
I ain’t got a ticket for the train, no
Jump barriers, too close to the game I got married to
Will do my apprenticeship, and then bus
‘Til then I ain’t bringing this mic too close to my lips
‘Cause it’s covered in rust
From a Premier set-up
Went well wild when he started the web up
But now you drop one tune
And it might be a star, who’s next comin' up
Yeah, yeah, big up Syer B
Just walked in the place
Oi bruv, you can come and take over
I need to get a drink anyway
Show ‘em what time it is mate
Tell ‘em what, tell ‘em what, tell 'em what
What, what
Original spitter
This one’s for the oldscool listener
Give me a sign if it’s crystal
Rudeboys in the lift-shaft, setting up the transmitter
Got two decks and a mixer, a bag full of dubs
Some fucked up bars, a mag, a ten-bag
And Rizla
And there’s weed in the lungs
I done Radio-sets with the realest ones
Station set in the vacant drums
High-rises and the deepest songs
So give me ten missed-calls if you feel this one
Twenty missed-calls and I will this one
I rep where I’m from every time I go on, shout out to my crew locked on
My bruv, the phone line’s been pumpin'
They want the reload
They ain’t havin' it though
Tryna squeeze in them bars
Out to all those silent listeners
Out to everyone recordin'
Wheel up, nah I don’t need it, keep it
Let ‘em take me in back here
breathin' the heater’s broken
And there ain’t no central heating
It’s freezin', I see my breath
It just adds to the vibe I guess
Then I get more drive, more meanin'
I was raised to be first not last
When I’m takin' part, and it might get heated
To the degree that I see fit
Get back on my Rinse: 1003 shit
One more time so they’re seeing Flipz
And old-school fire’s being lit
Like someone just got me
Pass me a bag and I’ll finish’em properly
Go hard or go yard
I heard that said then and I weren’t killin' ‘em softly
You know what were gone, were out of here
Out to everyone who was tuned in
Same time next week
Big up the DJ up next
Big up the MC’s up next… peace