歌词
作词 : Harrison Armstrong/Jacob Jones/Taras Slusarenko
作曲 : Harrison Armstrong/Jacob Jones/Taras Slusarenko
Yeah, yeah, yeah
(Yeah) WhyJay
Can't lie most people are fake
I'm lookin' at man like who can I trust?
Come like I'm shootin' blanks, when I tell ya' I'm leavin' yutes in the dust
Fans wanna hear gang in the place
Get gassed when they chat 'bout shootin' it up
But I got your favourite rappers shook when I say I got studio booked
Tell your bae she can have that purse, Ray J I tapped it first
Catch a case when I pack that verse, lay it and stab that word
Cute face but her backs absurd, no doubt, I'ma mash that works
Make my d**k disappear when I tap it, baby got magic curves
Foot on your neck and my face on telly
Reasons to hate too many
Got your bae in my bed in the lace front steady
Features of facial ready
Put beats in a grave, it's Aitch not Freddy
I don't need blades or 'chete
Got p's to be made but I'm paid already
King of the rave, big Shelly
Firm that right to the face, don't speak on the net, that's lame, that's petty
First class flight to L.A, had beef on the jet like Wayne and Headie
I was at wireless with J had to clean up the set 'cause it rained too heavy
Still my left wrist brighten your day, my brudda can't wave, shits way too heavy
Aitch too paid, got my stacks on bolo, I don't do Snapchat promo
Bentayga's, Range's, Lambs or Rollo, used to be blacked out Polo
Still famous, Moston Lanin' solo
I ain't gotta roll with bro-bro
Trust me I'm good in my hood, only cover my face when I don't want photo
I brought the food to the table, it's only right that I sat down first
Had no room for the racks in my man-bag so I just packed out hers
They say I keep spittin' the same old shit, huh
All you rap abouts girls
Money, music and sex, I don't know much more, brudda that's my world
Back to the 4 whole block out tonight, seen shottas smoke rock out a pipe
Some on the B, some chop up the white, set man pour wok out the pint
My shit gyal just phoned, told me she want sweet boy cocky tonight
Ask about my postcode, don't think sweet boy won't knock out your lights
Pushy manny got my block lit, cuzzy pushin' cali said it's on ship
Spent a millie, went and left the city, still the ends are with me on some mob tip
Took a Fendi and I drop six, had the shop smelly 'cause I'm hot shit
My bro be showin' me these Insta baddies
You ain't shown me many that I've not hit
Fr-free Samurai, free Tallerz, even in pen, all my guys are ballers
Br-bro got beef with his old best mate when he's ridin' he finds it awkward
No girls that'll line man up, no girls that'll rack up a line and snort it
My gyal twenty-three with the legs in the air and the tongue out, Michael Jordan
On the scene since '018, all I've met is bare jokers and OAPs
Ask bando if I've been D.A.O, A.I.T.C.H, G.O.A.T
Our kids graftin' and throwin' p's
Had a drought this summer 'cause snow ain't cheap
See rap yutes hatin' but he ain't bro
Yeah, he ain't raps like man but bro ain't me
'019 I was catchin' homage, verses got wrapped and bodied
Parties in hotels, packed out lobbies
Can't lie I ran through Johnny's
'017 with the packs in college, used to skip class in forest
If rap don't work, grow weed but the rap shit works so my stack just flourished
They say I went mainstream on 'em but back in the day told me I ain't got hits
Everyday get asked for a favour but don't get shouted when I ain't got shit
That's why I stay shittin' on man
Most the gyal that you've pray for, sat on my block list
Got a bad ting livin' off man
Boyfriend's on the wing, she's sat in the cockpit
Like why does he rap like that?
I hope white boys energies matchin' his d**k
Swear I feel like backin' it out to show him what time it actually is
If I'm lyin', I'm dyin' then I'm still alive
Then it's only facts that I spit
At least that I don't just─
At least I don't chat shit
Like all you borin' rappers
At least I don't─, what?
Least just don't lie in my rap
Half of the UK scene just cap for the kids
Had to squeeze the bar out, ****in' hell