| Central Line!
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| Man try a ting, Central Line!
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| Boy try a ting, Central Line!
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| No long ting on the Central!
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| Fucked in the head-a-leng
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| If I’m bored-a-leng
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| I might walk down the road-a-leng
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| Eat anyone-a-leng, pon dem a-leng
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| And then duckle
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| Nine! |
| Manna lick two inna your chest
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| Put two inna your spine
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| Fuck round with K, your life is on the line
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| Well, you don’t wanna war with K9
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| Nine! |
| Manna lick two inna your chest
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| Put two inna your spine
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| Fuck round with K, your life is on the line
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| Well, you don’t wanna war with K9−9
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| Yo, one of dem, one of dem
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| C-A-P-O, yeah, one of dem, one of dem
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| Come out the way, yeah, one of dem, one of dem
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| Manna get liff, yeah, one of dem, one of dem
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| Bun down rave, yeah, one of dem, one of dem
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| Pricks in the grime scene, yeah, one of dem, one of dem
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| Can’t take Capo for one of dem, one of dem
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| Mandem load at one of dem, yo
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| Ey, yo, love grime (Hey!)
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| Run man a riddim, I’ll torch it (Hey!)
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| Dark like we’re living in sunshine (Hey!)
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| Slap 'way another exclusive (Hey!)
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| One line, make ya head lumpy
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| I give dem eight bar, gyaldem haffi start moving
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| Wah dem ah deal wid? |
| (Level)
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| Cah you know my ting already
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| I’m like, «Wow! |
| Who’s that rass!»
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| Fuck up the rave like CS gas
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| Murkle man, kill off a fass
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| Worship me like Sunday mass
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| And again, «Wow! |
| Who’s that rass!»
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| Fuck up the rave like CS gas
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| Murkle man gonna kill off a fass
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| And man worship me like Sunday mass
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| Bang! |
| Couldn’t be a stupid man
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| Bang! |
| Better know I’m a money man
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| Bang! |
| Can’t chat shit to me, man
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| Bang! |
| Cah man are real big mic man so
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| Bang! |
| Wiley’s a London man
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| Bang! |
| Gyaldem know I’m the man
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| Bang! |
| Know that I’m old school man
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| Yes, who’s hot on microphone stand?
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| Manna said lie dem a tell, lie dem a tell
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| Man are gonna shell dem as well, shell dem as well
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| Put your food on the scale, food on the scale
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| Ayy, it’s not everyday trap on Snap
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| Manna said lie dem a tell, lie dem a tell
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| Man are gonna shell dem as well, shell dem as well
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| Put your food on the scale, food on the scale
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| Ayy, it’s not everyday trap on Snap
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| You wanna test? |
| It’s fine by me
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| New era, hit 'em with the new stylie
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| Ear’um scare 'em, wear and tear 'em
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| I got the flows that are too grimey
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| You wanna test? |
| It’s fine, fine
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| Hit 'em with the new era line, line
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| I’m cheeky like a rear end
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| Soon gonna explode like a mine
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| Young Raiden’s got a new ting called
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| No-no, remorse-morse
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| You got a new one but they won’t sing, that’s
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| No-no, remorse-morse (Wait)
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| I tell man straight up I’m the best, that’s
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| No-no, remorse-morse (Wait)
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| I say, «Wait» and they still say, «Yes», that’s
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| No-no, remorse-morse
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| Freeze, don’t make me squeeze
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| No it’s not Babylon, it’s Mr. Breeze
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| Breathe and you’ll catch my disease
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| If you don’t own a gas mask, better leave
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| Say please and I might be nice
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| Cold as ice, I drop bodies at a nice price
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| Say the word, spray these nerds
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| With verbs till their eyes are blurred
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| I don’t care, I don’t care
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| Take your shit, get out of here
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| Leave the seat, fuck it take the chair
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| Say you done this but who was there?
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| Who was near? |
| Temper’s short so watch your talk
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| My strikers shoot and when I pop the ball
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| From Roman Road down to Stroudley Walk
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| Drive big cars, man I hardly walk
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| Start mooting 'em up
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| What you doing there? |
| Start fucking them up
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| That boy there, start banging him
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| Chaps, chain, start jacking him
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| Draw for the gat, start gun bucking 'em up
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| Torture path leave some shattering
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| All his mandem come off the block
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| Jump fences, climb over walls
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| Start scattering
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| Grips! |
| Bang him!
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| You’re on the floor!
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| No movement, you’re on the floor!
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| Catch him at the back of the flats!
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| Grips! |
| Bang him!
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| You’re on the floor!
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| No movement, you’re on the floor! |