Lyrics GOLA - Local

GOLA

Not Oz but I go right under
Wonder, why I don’t do leftovers
Been doing it since loafers
Spitting with the olders, and I had in-line rollers
Hated school my mum bought me Gola’s
Now I rub serious shoulders
Got friends that deliver cocaine, and I got friends that’s delivering sofas
Five-yard box man are poachers, Golden Boot man are Ruud van Nis'
'Nuff emcees wanna ring my phone but I can’t connect like a two-man kiss
I used to love my rap, I was 2Pac that, I was Wu-Tang this
One double-oh real, three-piece meal, I’m healthy I never done fruit and fish
This girl’s blind to my love, ain’t feeling my words like braille
I wore my crocodile shoes, but Jimmy got drunk and broke your nail
Badmouth pro, make a diss count, and I ain’t talking mid-summer sale
Quick backshot on a female cop is the last time that I had feds on a tail
I’m a Welsh boy like Gareth, but I got too many friends on bail
Went Greece and I came home pale
Woke up on a network rail
I ain’t bagging up drugs, so what we sell is on a different scale
Locs, shoulda gone Sweet Valley High, I’m old-school like Martin and Gale
I got a cup that I wanna fill up, I got something that I wanna bill up,
we ain’t done
Might see me doing bits in the sun, late for the airport driving a tonne
And I got one girl still jumping the gun so I stopped seeing her when it
stopped being fun
Pass me a spliff and a rum, pass me a kick and a drum
It’s Locs, I get popping, bopping, avoiding my Sky Bet login
Bone and skin never not been thin but my lungs don’t work so I might get jogging
TV laptop, might get to flogging
Ain’t been shopping and my trainers bogging
These days I don’t getta wagwan, back in the day my door wouldn’t stop knocking
One two boogie I boogie, yeah I go uptown clubs in a hoodie
Give girls buzz for the woody, high-grade, look in the jar that’s cookie
Still walk through Boots for the pussy, I was in grassroots, didn’t see
I always knew they jacked in the city, but I still wanna know who killed Pookie
And I ain’t no rookie when it comes to the verse, ain’t no rookie when it comes
to the mic
I only came for a drink and dance, you man came for a Facebook like
Bought Paul Smith, still wore Nike
Three-piece meal on the back of the bike
I’m from Rumney where it ain’t too sunny and Friday’s always a fight
Buh!