| Yo Jamie
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| Yo, yo rudeboy
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| Ayo rudeboy, come here, blud
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| Oi, come here, oi, yo, stop
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| Come here, star
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| Ayy, ayy blud, come here blud
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| Don’t want… come here!
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| Shut ya mout, rudeboy, allow the hype
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| Chatting shit, put down the mic
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| See, in two years, you’re gonna pull out the pipe
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| Send for the rocks, pull out the light
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| If I was you, I would sit down tonight
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| Read them bars you decide to write
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| And think carefully before
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| I put my dutty lips around the mic
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| What? |
| Check out the sweat on my neck
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| I’m Lord of the Mic and Lord of the Deck
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| Not no wasted yout from the bits
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| I can MC, produce and mix
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| Nah, fam, I won’t diss you
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| Let’s not make this an issue
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| 'Cause really nobody would miss you
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| If your dad would’ve put you in a tissue
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| I’ve got two GUESS watches
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| You think that’s P? |
| Guess what is
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| Round my neck, if my chest hot, it
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| Cools me down like a vest top
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| Nah, you won’t see me with no red blotches
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| On my chest, near my breast pocket
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| What you thought you saw, I guess not, it’s
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| My pendant that will blind out your eye
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| Yo, blud, don’t get rude
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| Rudeboy, warning you
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| You know that I don’t normally slew
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| Slew me, that’ll be the end of you
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| All this badboy talk is nothing
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| You’ve got a stiff face like you wanna say something
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| Don’t get rude, I said don’t get rude
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| I will start uppercutting
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| You better mind out that I don’t
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| Bounce your head twice and dunk it in a basket
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| Try jack Jme’s flow, jack Jme’s lyrics
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| And then try to mask it
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| You’re baiter than a rasta man
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| With fourteen tenses
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| Your style will go dry
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| Quicker than contact lenses
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| I write lyrics, if you take offence
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| You can go to your garden and take a fence
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| And knock yourself out, but if we’re friends
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| Ring me, it’s only thirty pence
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| Or you can take it upon yourself
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| To go home and write one yourself
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| But you’re so swag
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| That you’ll probably write a bar like this
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| «Jme, you shout too loud
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| Jme, put the mic down
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| Jme, you just ain’t cutting it
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| If I see your face, I’m headbutting it
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| Jme, you think you’re serious
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| Jme, you’re nowhere near it
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| Jme, you think you’re sick
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| But you’re any durag prick»
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| While you were writing one-liners
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| I was on road shotting one-liners
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| Not flames, couldn’t be seen on the roads
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| Blacked-out like a limousine on the roads
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| What? |
| I wear black clothes when I’m here
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| Nobody even knows when I’m here
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| I only wrote this lyric to show
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| I’m the master of the one-line flows
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| Beat you up! |
| Yeah, yeah, everybody knows
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| You’re some goody-goody, yeah, everybody knows
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| I hear you say Boy Better Know
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| But you ain’t got the energy, Boy Better Know!
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| From day one, yeah, that’s me
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| AIR VENT IN YOUR CREP! |
| Yeah, that’s me
|
| I’m the master of the one-line flows
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| I can proudly say that I’ve got one of those
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| You better mind out that I don’t
|
| Bounce your head twice and dunk it in a basket
|
| Try jack Jme’s flow, jack Jme’s lyrics
|
| And then try to mask it
|
| You’re baiter than a rasta man
|
| With fourteen tenses
|
| Your style will go dry
|
| Quicker than contact lenses |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Old School , by - JME. Song from the album History:, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп