Lyrics Street Politics - K-Trap, Dezzie, Headie One

Street Politics

Sykes, sykes
You know, you know
Nastylgia
Yo
Feds blew off my door for a mad ting, sad ting, talk about intent supply
Have you ever sat down in a courtroom, looking like Lassie and Marj ain’t cry?
Ayy
Me, I spent time on basic, phonin' bro, tryna keep my head, aye
I said 'Bug don’t listen enough, he just slide an' let corn fly
How many times we go there, do it?
Thing in the ride tryna make 'em go through
it
Them man had their chance but blew it, knew it, would’ve hurt more if you threw
it
New smoke, bro, let’s go through it
It could’ve been the end, the ting never jammed
Ride-out's ain’t planned, then 'Bug still pay, now opps get blamed
My bro been in jail for ten year straight
He still kept the link
Alarm bells on Feltnham, 9AM, it’s a early shift
Spontaneous glides
Didn’t catch an M but we nearly did
They see it’s lit
It really coulda been a 30 wreck
Concrete jungle
Us young niggas earnt respect
Stepped on opps, now my stylist scheme down my turtleneck
My young boy went and burnt an opp
Came to the block then he burnt that pen
But he put too much petty
I swear he nearly burnt down the rec'
Nokia, E, that was O for Ian
How all now I got sauna steam?
Back then, man done it with a sawn-off one, now main opps see us with a G17
Tryna stay clean, but I’m playing a dirty game
'Fore I’ve been bounced for raisains, that was on a dirty 'caine
Bust my kettle and chain
Grow now I might cop me a Plain Jane
VS1 can’t hide this pain
Hit up A same way
Make sure your boots are laced
Don’t step if it ain’t for K
One pop, we’ll put it on a spray, now I’m checking the news all day
Yo, don’t slip when I’m outside 'tacking
Thing on my hip, of course I’m not lacking
Yeah, the other side bruck, they’re slacking
Real bad men, I forev' be stacking ayy
Come a long way from trappin'
Now I’m in the studio, full time rapping
If she ain’t ten I ain’t tapping
Slow down miss, why you always love snapping?
had to hop that trade, now it’s up in OT flying packs, no plane, playing
Gas said I’m way too veng, got hunnids on me, throw bands, let it rain
D-tup, I still pop champagne, when court get buss it’s us they blame
Pedal bike gliding, on the other side watch them toolies saying
(One)
Old Bailey, eight weeks, I reminisce occasionally
I’m feeling like the CPS hate me, luckily I know that my brownster’s facety
One of these feds wanna cage me, breakfast pack on A wing
We’ll hit the strip, serving out the 80s, intent to supply, now we serve re
pastries
Yo, pastries, baguettes
Water, riolettes
Six 'peds got me this country flat on let
German dingers
Gang got' step correct
No connect four, wanna call for the fourth connects
Came out of jail an' abused that microwave and fork
Go to war, two different fours
We can go long or short
Dot-dot go «Boom-bow»
Loud like the 6.3 exhaust
Load that 'matic, do it gently, better not stuff that corn
How much waps been bought?
Round that up, coulda went a jewlers'
Fifth corn’s enormous, beat, he’s defo falling
All year I just gave out orders, like «Go there with a four in the corner»
Work that boy in front of his bredrins, now they got' deal with trauma