| Welcome to the jungle
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| King of this shit, Royal Blood, welcome to the rumble
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| Every man for himself, coco be wary, I square you now
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| Inside the square circle cuz, curb your trust
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| If I kill us and rob us and serve us up
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| Snakes in the grass couldn’t turf a cup
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| Can’t befriend then burgle us
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| Killing these bills, Uma Therman’d up
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| Getting that belly like Sherman Klump
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| Show’s over when the curtains shut
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| But mines are blinds and I’m turning up
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| Who are ya? |
| Bet you heard of us
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| Big mic man like merciless
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| They say grime’s not popping like it was back then
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| Rap’s not honest like it was back then
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| When I get gassed in the booth like this
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| Niggas go bonkers like it was MAC-10
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| Roll Jack Jones if it ain’t man dem
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| And again and again
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| Roll Jack Jones if it ain’t man dem
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| Don’t make money but it does make sense
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| Karmas have answered us
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| Light up a dance like bars when there’s sparklers
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| Out in Marms with an army of armsmens
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| Pure click,
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| I begin, booked a studio in
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| Rolling the rustlers, holy bivariate
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| Then I be back in East with the Gs
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| That ain’t no gangsters, mate, that’s the governors
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| Sweet geez, ark at him
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| Cotching on Ermine Road where the barber’s is
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| With a whole leap of man get enough of us
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| You know them man that draw 9 for an argument
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| That shamone, you’re a man like it’s nothing then
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| Come and round up the sticks like carpenters
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| You wanna squash that beef but it started
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| Man’ll go door like «I'll let you buy a carpet»
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| Stick to the script
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| Real educated ignorant shit
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| Don Perignon just to binge on the shit
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| Yo, if it bubbles, put your finger in it
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| White chicks sling G-strings when I spit
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| Blacker days, would’ve got lynched for this shit
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| Would’ve got whipped for this shit
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| Now I push a German Whip on a bitch
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| Now everybody wanna get Jigga rich quick
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| What they handed to them likkle privileged kids
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| Hands in the cookie jar, ripping off ribs
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| I guess that’s taking the flipping biscuit
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| Stealing a living with your sticky fingers
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| Crossing that pond and fishing for hits
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| We both gain from a little influence
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| But how comes nobody credits us Brits?
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| This ain’t no RP cup of tea music
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| This real east end theme music
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| No, I don’t know the Queen
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| But that bitch stays in my jean pocket
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| No dubstepping on my toes
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| Don’t fuck with my drum and bass
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| Shuffling to some council house
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| But it gets grimy in these raves
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| I’ve had dubplates on acetate
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| Dun know Kano was here
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| Used to shop in catalogs, now my catalog’ll
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| Give these soundboys diarrhoea
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| Smash all of your CD rack
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| Won’t get none of your CDs back
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| Clear all of your CD rack
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| Won’t get none of your CDs back
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| Smash all of your CD rack
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| Won’t get none of your CDs back
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| Clear all of your CD rack
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| Won’t get none of your CDs back
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| Welcome to the jungle
|
| King of this shit, Royal Blood, welcome to the rumble
|
| Every man for himself, coco be wary, I square you now
|
| Inside the square circle cuz, curb your trust
|
| If I kill us and rob us and serve us up |