Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song How It Is (feat. Wretch 32 and Yazmin), artist - Wretch 32. Date of issue: 09.03.2008
Song language: English
How It Is (feat. Wretch 32 and Yazmin) |
| Yazmin |
| Wretch 32 |
| Take a journey with me |
| Pretend I’m the tour guide |
| No MAC, just the .45 |
| Welcome to London |
| Where some talk to the talk |
| But me, I walk the walk |
| And you can tell I’m abundance |
| Niggas get set up and held with a lump sum |
| They bringing drama to your mum’s drum |
| Flinging your arm up but when they come |
| Some fill 'em up with dum dums |
| Nowadays, the young ones are worse than the olders are |
| They’ll burst just to gloat and laugh |
| Don’t be so surprised |
| Because I’m around with no disguise |
| I know you noticed |
| I socialise with niggas that come from broken homes |
| And we don’t vote |
| Because even if we did, we wouldn’t see no hopes |
| And now I’m me now, with a kilo |
| Not giving a fuck if fiends overdose |
| I keep most my notes |
| When niggas won’t look, I’m taking precautions |
| You’ll get run up on eight in the morning |
| There’s no escaping distortion |
| So, my flame is important |
| Even if you ain’t making a fortune |
| Niggas want a portion |
| But taking my money is something like taking the |
| This is no real life, we call it street life |
| So much pain, this one’s so cold |
| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence |
| There’s so many things out on the road |
| Some people dying |
| All this crying |
| And still trying to find it hard to stray |
| So, people have nothing |
| They’re living life |
| Sleeping out on the streets at night |
| Listen, I’m from the roads where it’s no fair |
| You’ll get your face lift on your own stairs |
| The lift’s out of order, so, they gotta pass the body |
| Stinking out half the lobby |
| And if my prints are on the bricks |
| Then there’ll be charges on me |
| Someone’s gotta |
| The sergeants marching, looking answers |
| Questioning, the question is |
| Who did it? |
| Matter of fact, who didn’t? |
| Catch .22s like two digits |
| Surrounding my ends and |
| Drowning my head like a |
| But I gotta move with it |
| Because it’s kill or be killed |
| Matter of fact, put a stick in your wheel |
| Because a gun war can turn into your son’s war |
| Surname associated |
| And they’ll be bursting the chrome at faces |
| But I ain’t afraid of nothing |
| Darg, I can work, you were made redundant |
| I move through, I can shave an onion |
| I’m smooth too, I can date your loved one |
| Yeah, so don’t get it twisted |
| It’s me here that I’m in the lump sum |
| This is no real life, we call it street life |
| So much pain, this one’s so cold |
| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence |
| There’s so many things out on the road |
| Some people dying |
| All this crying |
| And still trying to find it hard to stray |
| So, people have nothing |
| They’re living life |
| Sleeping out on the streets at night |
| If you’re home |
| It’s in a war zone where laws are broke |
| But rich kids make a mockery of poor adults |
| Lord knows, I’ve bored foes |
| Don’t ever think it’s safe because your doors are closed |
| And with no qualifications |
| The only way to go legit is spit or score goals |
| And you can ask Lew |
| Producing beats, reducing sleep, are you a star, too? |
| You got a new release, the tune of week |
| Make use of fast food |
| That’s the food we eat, it’s food at least |
| I stack P’s and Nandos like |
| That’s everyday, it’s that peak |
| Then it’s back to the bad streets |
| Where the cats meet |
| Heroine and crack fiends |
| That keen that I could give a one in return of a flat screen |
| That’s just the perks of my job |
| I work with Charlie and I’m working with Bob |
| It’s 2007, I’m counting my weapons |
| Erasing my papers, so, my house be endeavoured |
| Out by eleven |
| Being a fiend, it’s in my genes |
| Like it’s found in my denim |
| I’m around of them bellends |
| Who from Peckham |
| Take a motherfucking look |
| I’m in a motherfucking hood |
| And the life I live, it’s even got my mother touching wood |
| Now, I love to bust the noog |
| Every second, feds cuffing up the crook |
| It’s regular around here |
| So many moves are made |
| Even though I’m smooth as the flames |
| Yeah, I still move the cane |
| Wishing I can move this way |
| This is no real life, we call it street life |
| So much pain, this one’s so cold |
| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence |
| There’s so many things out on the road |
| Some people dying |
| All this crying |
| And still trying to find it hard to stray |
| So, people have nothing |
| They’re living life |
| Sleeping out on the streets at night |