Lyrics 96 Bars of JME - JME

96 Bars of JME

Hold tight the Grime Reaper on productions, yeah
Big up my mum, my dad, my brother, my sister, Skepta
Serious
Hold tight Wiley, Boy Better Know
See I got bare labels phoning me but
Cash point ain’t showing me no love
Everyone’s got my tunes on their phone
And the CD in the PC at home
Is packed with all of the tunes that I’ve done
But my wallet, ain’t saying one
You think I’m making mad P
You’re right, my money is angry with me
It took me five years to get 10 A to C’s
But, in five days I get 10 AC’s
Somebody out there please tell me
What I’ma do with my uni degree?
I don’t want a job
Blud, I swear down, I just wanna be a big MC
Or something along them lines
Swear on my life, music means so much to me
Getting a degree to me is like a plan B
It will mean so much to my family
But understand me
JavaScript, makes me wanna swear like Plan B
I know it’ll come in handy
I stick with it, even when I get angry
And I’m not on my own
I got a brother in this music game like Brandy
He knows how much music means to me
We’re just trying to make money legally
I know guys that’ll creep in your house
Go upstairs, open a safe and steal a G
That sounds like quick P to me
But still, I travel on C2C
And WAGN, and Silverlink
Everything’s not what it seems to be
You think I’m stupid, move on
Stereotype me, I’ll prove you wrong
Ask anybody that knew me ages ago
They’ll say I had my head screwed on
«Yeah Jamie, that guy he’s cool
Trust me blud, he went to my school
He made me a ringtone once
It was like Eskimo mixed into old school»
To this day, I still ain’t changed
Jme, music in his veins
Same face, same deranged
Thoughts coming through the speaker each day
Mum still shouting, «Turn down the bass»
Bredrins lounging around the place
I don’t smoke but my room’s smoked out
Can’t see my hand in front of my face
As if I’m in a time capsule
My pockets are still filled with shrapnel
Only difference is, some of it’s Euros
I’ve been travelling, capital to capital
I’ve been 'nough countries I swear
One day I’ma write them all down
If you turn the clock back 2 years
I don’t think I’d have even left town
But still, I used to make hits
I was blessed with a lyrical art
The other MCs, they weren’t shit
But they come like lyrical farts
And they stunk, I used to hate them
See, nowadays, I rate them
Not 'cause I think that they’re down
But for simply sticking around
The bars I write, they’re like Red Bull
Trust blud, I got a whole shed full
Yeah, sometimes I can be a hothead
But, more time, my head’s cool
When I’m a hothead I don’t get lyrical
I get serious, lyrically physical
I start shouting stuff like, «Derkhead»
And people think it’s really cool
In the MC rank, I’m a piss-take
Yeah blud, I’m way before fifth place
Jme, everyone saw his face
See now, I’ve got about four mixtapes
Trust me, I know you’re playing 'em
And all of my lyrics, you’re saying 'em
Even your girl says, «Shh hut yuh muh»
There’s no escaping it’s blatant
Yo, blud, man better know
No one test with the dibby-dibby flow
Flow round here on the mic, I’m a pro
Professional in the game and you know
All this war and clash is trash
I’ll make a tune or bore some gash
Don’t get rude
I said, don’t get rude
Or I will singe your 'tache
Yo, blud, stand over there
Dare, you, attempt to swear
Swear, down, I’ll burn your ear
'Ear what blud you know I don’t even care
All this push out your chest is late
I did that in 1998
Don’t get rude, I said don’t get rude
Or I will phlegm in your face
Derkhead, edition three