I don't need a sponsor or a co- sign
I don't borrow bars, I got my own lines and my
own rhymes but you can hold mine
But you ain't going to act like I'm an
old timer in decline since '09
saying you miss the old grime
1999, you didn't know grime,
I was making grime and getting no shine
Everybody said they stand on business,
till they run their mouth and get a clothes line
Budgets getting cut, labels shutting down
all the black stuff like the coal mines
And that's a cold line for
Either you're with me or against me
Either you love me or resent me
Is it a Rolls, is it a Bentley?
Why am I shallow and so empty?
I don't need the P, I got plenty
But if you give me the P, it might tempt me
You can't make this up, this ain't Fenty
You can't make this up , this
I don't over do it, I just over
achieve and you better believe
I took UK music overseas in '03
Oh please, it ain't complex
I'm one, two, three, four,
Better wash your mouth and dirty lips
I'm the god- damn reason you can even sit
All gassed up like that, talking shit
And you could have quit or at least admit
I was out here working, doing bits
Had a hold of the UK throwing fits
I got MOBOs, Ivor Mercury and a BRIT
Got a BET, and that ain't even it

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Get nowAnd I put us on main stage
We ain't even on the same page
I don't really want to engage
I only care what the estates think
I was gripping on ends with bait licks
And the game stinks 'cause you get
excited about mediocre stuff
Plus- plus- plus I'm old enough
radio picked them man there over us
Not trying to blow my own trumpet
I'd rather beat my own drum kit
That's the fun bit, plus I made the beat
I don't run my mouth, I just run shit
I ain't losing sleep over dumb shit
I'm so far ahead before they even started,
Let's forget the tape packs with Wiley Kat,
If I ain't the Godfather, I must be God
There's nothing wrong with that
then you can keep your God
What kind of God is that?
but you can thank God for putting us on the map
Call it blasphemy but don't call it cap
Done a lot for grime, I done a lot for rap
I'm a happy chap, not a fanny flap
I'll spark 'em out before I hold a slap
Back to Wiley Kat, I take off my hat
But when you over- chat, they over react
My bars are hard and they're tight
I just don't see the hype
I'm like Stevie Wonder trying
to fly a kite on a cloudy night
No, I'm really like black dynamite,
We're the same blood type,