| Bruv, I heard your single, it was lame
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| You need to go and seek some advice
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| I’m original, you are the same
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| But take out the ORI
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| Boy Better Know, in this scene
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| We are the sprayers, we are the kings
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| You really want to sound mean
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| But you’re just saying bare tings
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| Nobody cares what you say on the mic
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| It takes me an hour to pick out a word
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| Dem way dere, I ain’t gonna lie
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| Listening to you is like doing a bird
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| It’s all too much, it hurts my head
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| More time, I just blank it out
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| It’s kinda unfair to get
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| A big lecture from an Air Cadet
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| Man like you will never get
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| Nowhere, trust me, yeah, forget
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| Music, bruv, you’re an airbag
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| Air on toast, you’re an air baguette
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| Don’t you get it? |
| You’re so airy
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| No wonder you got Nike Air creps
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| You’re air kebab, air when I’m here
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| I don’t wanna hear your air in my ear
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| I would love to be a badman
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| But I ain’t got time
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| Bruv, I’m in the studio like eight hours a day
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| So I ain’t got no time to play
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| Like I said, I ain’t got time
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| I’m hustling my mixtape grind
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| There’s only 24 hours a day
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| I sleep eight of them hours away
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| From 3 to 11, I’m sleeping
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| From 12 till 1, eating
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| Unless I’ve got uni
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| If not then these are the targets I’m meeting
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| From 1 till 5
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| Chasing up my dough, trust, it’s not the lick
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| Record shops, distributors, blud
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| Them goons ain’t paying up shit
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| Studio from 6 till 2
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| You know this shit’s all true
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| I stay at studio longer
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| When I’m closer to the date my mixtape’s due
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| But there’s still some guys in the scene
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| Who believe that they’ve got the right
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| To phone my phone and ask me
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| For tunes at all times of the night |