Mother talks to you like nothing is better
|
Than you going out on a Tuesday
|
Well, I’m not sure what to do
|
But man, I swear, man, I’m slaving far away and, uh
|
Why is it that always on the weekend
|
No one ever about to shout?
|
Are people working too hard, or drinking too hard?
|
The matter of the fact, I’ma never quite sure of
|
And they blaze it down and pull yourself up
|
And pull yourself right to the hook, shook men crooks
|
Never go nowhere with me 'cause I’m all on my own, no pity
|
Spit like guilty mans in the sermon
|
Grooving around of this place like you never did learn 'em
|
I shake myself down, I rattle myself out
|
And put myself on the line to dry
|
And why is it New Year’s Eve is always shit?
|
Don’t you know what I mean, man? |
Deal with it
|
It’s always just the way we rolling
|
Your girl’s that fucked off a Smirnoff Ice
|
I think once, twice or thrice never makes no difference to me
|
A skinny little white runt with the head lice
|
Never been better than money
|
Never been not at the start in this city
|
I’ve always been around this town
|
Since the first day I was born
|
And I’ve been losing frequencies and losing sound
|
And losing everything and I squander it all, and
|
I’ve been hit up, I’ve been around
|
I’ve been in the dancehall since the first day in town
|
And I still been beating, cheating
|
Falling to the floor when kids are kicking
|
I’ve been a-bleeding, I’ve been a-losing
|
Well, are you man a-born for the choosing?
|
And if you ain’t better
|
A la-la-listen up the test as I start, man, impress ya
|
And if you ain’t losing, well, then you ain’t grooving
|
I’ll still be down here on the low-key
|
Send your girl over and she’ll blatantly chat to me
|
I been over, I been over
|
You’ve been down and you’ve been down
|
Now I’ve been all but I’m moving
|
All around the town, all around and around
|
I’ve been grooving, I’ve been losing
|
I’ve been all around choosing
|
And now I’m back for the challenge
|
Who wants a challenge? |
Well, I want ya more
|
Now I’m on my train
|
Life in the fast lane never gave me no game
|
And then the man says, «Wakey, wakey»
|
It’s morning time on the Northern line
|
I’m all like bowling straight up to Camden
|
All the way from your Farringdon
|
I wanna make sure I’m a bit tired
|
I now realise that inciting a riot
|
To one stone’s throw and too much dough
|
And all my mans are sniffing up too much blow
|
And I’ma thinking, oh, why I’d never
|
I’ll sever it up before I think about forever and I
|
I chat it back to the people I used to know
|
Kick it back 'cause I’m rolling it solo
|
And why not, what’s to the beef?
|
And no one really knows me, so no one hits the teeth, uh
|
I chat it back like you’ve never been a thief, I’m a thriller
|
Licence to ill, that be settin' up a killer, killer, killer
|
Ah, what you killer? |
Never know me, ha
|
It’s all that chat back and too much of that never rack
|
I kick it back like a bitch-slap right to myself in the mirror
|
I kick it back thinner, maybe my shirt don’t fit no more
|
A hardcore man think he can fight up the law
|
While shackled to the tenants
|
Now he never work no more for the flow, dedication to Wario
|
And now it’s me back to the further
|
Now it comes back looser than ever
|
And some kids, they think them get better
|
They think they’re trend setters
|
But they never pacemakers, and
|
What am I? |
What am I? |
What am I in my own dear eyes?
|
What am I? |
What am I? |
What am I in my own dear eyes?
|
What am I? |
What am I? |
What am I in my own dear eyes?
|
I say it so much, what am I? |
What am I? |
What am I?
|
What am I? |
Makes no sense no more
|
Woah, woah, woah, uh-oh, woah, woah, woah, woah
|
Woah, woah, woah, what am I?
|
Woah, woah, woah, da-da-dum
|
Woah, woah, woah, what am I?
|
Woah, woah, woah, woah
|
We-de-diddy-diddy, dum-dum-day
|
Uh, uh, uh, uh
|
It’s like a march in here
|
Uh, uh, uh
|
From the left to the right, uh, stomp your feet
|
Uh, uh, uh, uh
|
It’s like a march in here
|
Uh, uh, uh, uh
|
Uh, people, stomp your feet
|
Uh, woah
|
It’s like a march in here
|
Uh, people, stomp them feet
|
Woo, uh, yeah, hahaha, woo
|
It’s like a march in here
|
Uh, people, stomp your feet
|
Some kids, they’re chilling on corners
|
Out of order, I think them all be better
|
Tie your laces, rat races, hit the pages
|
Write your own books and write your own spellchecker
|
I’m on a better man, chilling in my own room
|
Assume to accumulate, to shake to sedate
|
Drink it down much quicker
|
I glug-glug-glug on my liquor and I feel much better
|
So talk to me about violence
|
Never know me, I sit further in silence
|
And when I drink it down, I drink it up
|
It fills my body and I feel fresher
|
I tick up the tester, regulator
|
I’m a two-man, shooting, looting
|
Now I’m presuming that everyone knowing me
|
Ah, the dedication, my name a JT and I
|
Roll it down, roll it down
|
Who wants to hit yourselves up?
|
Who’s got the uppers?
|
Ah, give 'em here, then I’m done
|
Ha, click your fingers
|
Uh, can you smell that, it lingers?
|
She’s a fat bitch but I’d still give her… one
|
Ooh, I’m a cheeky son
|
Where they from? |
Haha
|
Yeah, from your old London
|
Hectic, ah-la-da-da-da-da-ah
|
That’s me finished, see you later, Ciao Bella |