Lyrics Style - Stefflon Don

Style

Cosmo? Dunno. Eh. Eh In my Eight, London. Eh Presidental Rolly on my wrist
When I was younger man I couldn’t picture this
Come harder, always hustled. Father took the piss
He was a dickhead, too much politics, I told her
Don’t worry momma I ain’t going to sting
Like when you drink the coffee and you run to do a shit
This was those days when Boba Wayne in that Eight
And in one minute that popstar was at war with it I write my lyrics in my own style
My momma don’t cry when I broke, no I kill beats like you must know
My shot the dance at the stage show
That poop my pants speaker
Steff don is the teacher
But ya’ll, them don’t know
New Era was a blood, yo.
Steff. Tell 'em
All the way through the jungle is a madness, London
Step up. Steff Don is a bad chick
You want it? You don’t really want it, cause I Keeping 'em coming, keep 'em running, and I Burn 'em. Done 'em. Everytime them come I run 'em
London. Step up. Steff Don, what up?
The place get mad and wicked and wild out. Sho'
Wind up the dong dong low
Bitches want to know how I get get so Mad wild out, while we kick it wild out
Steff Don done. She wild out
Them living on they bad self
And she tick and she tats so Oh she fat and she going so Blood clots, Steff Don, are mad so Face pretty girl, look good. Eh.
When I come in to dance, everybody come to dance
Everybody, everybody, let’s go. Eh Give it to them
Cosmo? Dunno. Bingo. Eh Feature. Leader. Me and the Teacher
That was a bit of Dutch. Yeah, you don’t know I’m Dutch
But guess what. Me I’m a double Dutch
Part of speak on the daily