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作词 : Blue May/Duke Reid/Jodi Milliner/Kane Robinson/Migual Collins |
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作曲 : Blue May/Duke Reid/Jodi Milliner/Kane Robinson/Migual Collins |
| [00:28.06] |
Overdose off the ovation |
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Make a stand for the whole nation |
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Dressing room like the Old Bailey |
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101 dogs and they ain't dalmatians |
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Knock you down, take your money like a donation |
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But why they think that was the morals we was all raised with |
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Screwface can't save faces |
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They only saving graces |
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At least it was saving papers |
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But there ain't no safe haven |
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If they can spray paint "b***h" on Lebron James' cri |
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That means a black card ain't shit |
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When that's the shade your face is |
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So basically, we're Kunta Kinte's in some Cuban links |
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The Balenciaga's didn't blend us in |
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We're here now, word to God's Gift |
| [00:59.23] |
They shoulda never let us in the game then |
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And know I'll back my brothers 'til my last breath |
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They left a Hennessy on the pavement |
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Ever see me go on the pavement? |
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Face on the floor, would you help a brother change his |
| [01:10.06] |
Circumstances hurt the hardest, ballers never made it |
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Black pitch famous |
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So east side like Mr ****ing Avis |
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You would never school me if I scoop up something famous |
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And you won't catch me with Julie and the vaders |
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Man, the real made us, man don't worry 'bout no paigons |
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If you ain't got above 80, don't worry what my rate is |
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You ain't ****ing got the faintest |
| [01:27.26] |
Man don't show off, |
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It's just to show the mandem they can make it |
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Coming from the city where the slipperiest of snakes live |
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Village has to raise its |
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Young kings and queens to believe their greatness |
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Fed up of police stations |
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ID parading 'cause, well, I ain't be mistaken |
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Just 'cause I lead the baiters |
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While we sly, paedos raping |
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Big man like you |
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Brogues and a big boy black suit and a gangster platoon |
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What's a man supposed to do? |
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We have complained to the police about the police |
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And nothing's been done |
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We have complained to judges about judges |
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And nothing's been done |
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Now it is time to do something ourselves |
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In love and war |
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All is fair where I'm from |
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The weak won't last |
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A week in shoes like our ones |
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When it rains it pours |
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Hoodies all summer |
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'Cause teardrops from the sky |
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Only seem to fall on you and I |
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Used to do rates for Ingrid |
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Wafer-thin envelope with eighty quids in |
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I paid my dues now pay me plenty |
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And me and Hollow on the phone talkin' |
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So trade a verse, limited tax |
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No way to swerve, too legit |
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That's chrome paper berks in the crib, thanks |
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No wasted, burnt energies, facts |
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No haters, serve enemies, rats |
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Go chased and cursed, devil-rigged crack |
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Crack niggas then turf penalties flat |
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Old names, that curb legendary rash |
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No chain but shit's still a G, lads |
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No game or learnt chivalry snaps |
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No faces burnt in the bees' mass |
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Curate them, hurt infancy sad |
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Those days concerned sisters be trapped |
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Most days absurd, bigotry, black |
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No days off, work literally, raps |
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No way, that's verse liberty |
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Shoebox memories |
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Reebok workouts and dungarees |
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We used to dream 'bout the most frivolous of things |
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'Til we bought the most ridiculous of rings |
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Now we're just tryna keep our bredrin's out the bin |
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Side talk, everyone's a guy until a guy walks in |
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Louder, crabs in the barrel and survival ting |
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We could all go clear, who taught us musical chairs? |
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There's enough seats for everybody mate |
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'Til then, we can't reach nowhere, truss |
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