Street Politics - K-Trap, Dezzie, Headie One

Sykes, sykes

You know, you know

Nastylgia

Yo

Feds blew off my door for a mad ting, sad ting, talk about intent supply

Have you ever sat down in a courtroom, looking like Lassie and Marj ain’t cry?

Ayy

Me, I spent time on basic, phonin' bro, tryna keep my head, aye

I said 'Bug don’t listen enough, he just slide an' let corn fly

How many times we go there, do it?

Thing in the ride tryna make 'em go through

it

Them man had their chance but blew it, knew it, would’ve hurt more if you threw

it

New smoke, bro, let’s go through it

It could’ve been the end, the ting never jammed

Ride-out's ain’t planned, then 'Bug still pay, now opps get blamed

My bro been in jail for ten year straight

He still kept the link

Alarm bells on Feltnham, 9AM, it’s a early shift

Spontaneous glides

Didn’t catch an M but we nearly did

They see it’s lit

It really coulda been a 30 wreck

Concrete jungle

Us young niggas earnt respect

Stepped on opps, now my stylist scheme down my turtleneck

My young boy went and burnt an opp

Came to the block then he burnt that pen

But he put too much petty

I swear he nearly burnt down the rec'

Nokia, E, that was O for Ian

How all now I got sauna steam?

Back then, man done it with a sawn-off one, now main opps see us with a G17

Tryna stay clean, but I’m playing a dirty game

'Fore I’ve been bounced for raisains, that was on a dirty 'caine

Bust my kettle and chain

Grow now I might cop me a Plain Jane

VS1 can’t hide this pain

Hit up A same way

Make sure your boots are laced

Don’t step if it ain’t for K

One pop, we’ll put it on a spray, now I’m checking the news all day

Yo, don’t slip when I’m outside 'tacking

Thing on my hip, of course I’m not lacking

Yeah, the other side bruck, they’re slacking

Real bad men, I forev' be stacking ayy

Come a long way from trappin'

Now I’m in the studio, full time rapping

If she ain’t ten I ain’t tapping

Slow down miss, why you always love snapping?

had to hop that trade, now it’s up in OT flying packs, no plane, playing

Gas said I’m way too veng, got hunnids on me, throw bands, let it rain

D-tup, I still pop champagne, when court get buss it’s us they blame

Pedal bike gliding, on the other side watch them toolies saying

(One)

Old Bailey, eight weeks, I reminisce occasionally

I’m feeling like the CPS hate me, luckily I know that my brownster’s facety

One of these feds wanna cage me, breakfast pack on A wing

We’ll hit the strip, serving out the 80s, intent to supply, now we serve re

pastries

Yo, pastries, baguettes

Water, riolettes

Six 'peds got me this country flat on let

German dingers

Gang got' step correct

No connect four, wanna call for the fourth connects

Came out of jail an' abused that microwave and fork

Go to war, two different fours

We can go long or short

Dot-dot go «Boom-bow»

Loud like the 6.3 exhaust

Load that 'matic, do it gently, better not stuff that corn

How much waps been bought?

Round that up, coulda went a jewlers'

Fifth corn’s enormous, beat, he’s defo falling

All year I just gave out orders, like «Go there with a four in the corner»

Work that boy in front of his bredrins, now they got' deal with trauma