| You’re either, rollin' with Gs or you’re rollin' with kittens
|
| That’s just the, way that it goes
|
| I’m known as a spitter
|
| I got the, gravy-est flow
|
| My motion is sicker
|
| I’m sick of the, game I told you I’m known as a winner
|
| I beat the, tune
|
| I told you I show a beginner
|
| I’m rappin' a fat stack of cash
|
| I’m naturally bigger
|
| I’m grabbin' a pad and
|
| I’m lyrically stabbin' the pad with immaculate writtens
|
| I tell 'em, leave it alone
|
| Like a dog with a bone
|
| Give me a reason to show you and open you raw
|
| I mean, half the mandem on the road, they chat shit
|
| And half the other man dem wanna stroll and moan
|
| I’m like, mhm none of that
|
| Now give me the space and give me the room
|
| In fact, now give me the bass and give me the tune
|
| Whether you’re plucking or you’re strumming
|
| Try your luck and have a couple 'til you’re chucking up
|
| I love it when the love is up
|
| I’m buzzing when the party bangin'
|
| Bangin' off the ceiling
|
| Bangin' bangers, even in the basement
|
| Jamming with a spliff
|
| And yammin' Maccy D’s in dungarees
|
| I run the beat so wonderfully
|
| So I could give a fuck whether you’re chuckin' me or duckin' me
|
| But, on the beat
|
| I give it some, I rip it quickly
|
| When I hit the town I’m big up in the inner city
|
| Pissed 'cause I was acting civil when that killer hit me
|
| Still I kept it flowing like that river up in Mississippi
|
| Diss me, that’s the actions of a silly billy
|
| I be chillin' while I’m kickin' writtens with my missus, silly
|
| Diss me, that’s the actions of a silly billy
|
| I be killing lyrics 'til I finish spitting, evidently
|
| You think you’re all that, in fact you’re an arrogant chatter
|
| I got a wolfpack, it’s fat like Zach Galifianakis
|
| I tell man fall back with wack raps and hazardous grammar
|
| Don’t record that, fuck that
|
| You’re wacker than hammer
|
| You hear the bells bump
|
| I bump a shot of bells
|
| I’m buzzin'
|
| I see the world as mine, I’m Montana
|
| I feed my cousins
|
| I’m in the middle like Malcolm
|
| I got my city clubbin'
|
| Shitty clubbin' scene
|
| It’s a pity there ain’t no different suttin'
|
| There ain’t no different suttin', ain’t no different nuttin'
|
| We don’t care about repercussions
|
| Fuck it we’re the younguns
|
| Greasy teens, merking mums and husbands
|
| You’re beneath this rapper like you’re lurking under dustbins
|
| But, man are acting barmy
|
| Getting on greedy
|
| Filling up their tummy
|
| Me I make CDs
|
| Gonna make the moneys
|
| I don’t do wars like
|
| Muhammed Ali
|
| I’d rather hold a Benz like a Nazi’s car key
|
| Home cooked chicken dinner, mummy never charged me
|
| Back then I partied
|
| Sippin' on Bacardi
|
| Ragamuffin chattin' something, couldn’t try and par me
|
| So what?
|
| Haha, you’re big in the game?
|
| I know a hundred rappers feeling the same
|
| I know a thousand rappers looking for fame
|
| We should all collab, that’d be lyrics for days (it would be)
|
| But some of these mandem are obviously living that lyrical lie
|
| Cause if they properly listened to my
|
| Hottest syllables fly
|
| They’d clock the visual audible justification
|
| They’re lyrically winning
|
| Again and again and again and again
|
| Then ring the kid and tell him I get it in
|
| Ca' the weirdest things they happen
|
| The audience booed man off stage whilst cheering and clapping
|
| All the coolest brethrens wear the geekiest of fashions
|
| And a Chinaman got vexed because a duck was Peking at him
|
| I don’t even try and make sense of my thoughts
|
| I just vent 'em in course
|
| Aggy ways, I got the temperament of a horse
|
| But just 'cause I abide the law
|
| No longer provide the draw
|
| I’m still as raw to spawn a thorn fuckin' a dinosaur
|
| Fuckin' a dinosaur
|
| Fuckin' a dinosaur
|
| But I’m inclined to set aside my sword
|
| Box you in the lips
|
| You got a lisp
|
| Talkin' like Kanye in 2004
|
| I’m getting lean, I got a pound of draw
|
| So, my straw
|
| I worked out
|
| I’m paying like, a pound a draw |