| Tell the barber stop fuckin' with my hairline
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| Got mine fitted to the side when I wear mine
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| Why these boys keep reachin' for my plate
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| Knowin' I don’t wanna share mine?
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| Why these boys keep lyin' when they swear blind?
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| Why they talking like I never made bare grime?
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| Talk tools like I never had a spare 9
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| Why they reachin' for my pockets like it’s their grind?
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| They better recline, don’t don’t need a co-sign from the mayor
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| Cos I got a pretty penny, I ain’t beggin' in my spare time
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| Why these bitches wanna hit me with the bare whine?
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| Tell me hit it bareback, these bitches ain’t even worth the airtime
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| Why these singers always gotta use Melodyne?
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| Why these rappers on their phone on the radio
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| They ain’t got prepared lines?
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| Why you gotta keep gassin' up their dead rhymes?
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| Why I gotta be a hater when I tell the truth?
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| Why I gotta like your shitty fire in the booth?
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| If you’re really spittin' fire where’s the bloody proof?
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| I ain’t hatin' on the youth, if you ain’t got the juice
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| What’s the bloody use?
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| Cos I’m used to the true spitters on the roof
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| East side of the river that’s the bloody roots
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| Had to put in work like a pair of muddy boots
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| Too big for my boots that’s the truth
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| No excuse for you new recruits
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| Bunch of dilutes, and a few flukes
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| I’ve been out of the loop
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| Gotta pepper MCs with a few nukes
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| Bunch of fashion MCs think they’re too cute
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| Bunch of rubbish MCs stick em in a chute
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| Chuck em out of a helicopter with no parachute
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| I had to jump through hoops
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| I’m a true brute, it ain’t up for dispute
|
| How bad do you want it?
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| Do you really, really want it?
|
| How bad do you want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| How bad do you want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| If you want it then I’m on it
|
| Why these bredders beggin' a re-union?
|
| Why’s the Godfather touchin' on the kids?
|
| Why you actin' like you never knew and he’s movin' new again?
|
| There ain’t ever gonna be another crew again
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| So tell Willy that I don’t need a pen pal
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| Stop writin' me these letters
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| Cos I don’t know what to do with them
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| It ain’t ever gonna be '03 or '02 they don’t do it how I did it
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| Somebody tell me what I’ve gotta prove again
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| I was runnin' round the manor like a hooligan
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| I was linkin' up with Gavin he was slewin' them
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| Would have been a mad ting if he blew
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| All these little grime kids ain’t got a clue
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| I ain’t even got a problem with the newer gen
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| But all these rappers that you’re begging I will ruin them
|
| And tell Mega he can make all the noise that he wants
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| But I’ll put him on his arse in a swamp with a few of them
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| They’re still talkin' about my old wars
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| Folklore still talkin' bout my old bars
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| Got my thinkin' that it’s all I’m really known for
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| I ain’t runnin' from no-one I fought my own wars
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| C1 NORTHSTAR, thats a war lord
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| If they only knew the way, flip the scoreboard
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| And tell Wes that he’s pukka and a mukka
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| He’s still a mad man, and a nutter and the heat I just can’t afford
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| Coz I’m on tour, they want an encore
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| Yeah sure that’s what I’m on for
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| Tell the promoters that they gotta put me on more
|
| I’m like an elevator stoppin' at the wrong floor
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| I ain’t got no regrets, if I did have a set
|
| It would be that I never flew Concorde
|
| Now my flow is complete 'cah I don’t want no raasclaat beat
|
| How bad do you want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| How bad do you want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| How bad do you want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| Do you really, really want it?
|
| If you want it then I’m on it |