Оригинален текст
Dizzee: Whos that whos that whos that?
Girl: The dopest, flyest OG pimp hustler, gangster player hardc*re motherfker living today. To be honest Im totally and completely on his d*ck.
And you know thisman!
Verse 1:
Its the return of Dizzee Rascal..Dem bwoi nah ready yet trend dat u never set. Silence silence silence dat. stop that start that get that. Yeah you know, Going on dirty going on stank. Yo
Roll deep with these, put these MCs on deep freeze,
Hit these Whitneys and rip these, Im like Busta we flip these, So Please
Dont rap with these, fearless, angry, sick MCs
Dont like Christines or Britneys, Lalas or Tinky Winkys
And this one strictly for pick these? Old school afro dry white beats
Barclays Halifax we stick these, Endless gunshots we lick these
Trick these CIDs with ease, touch mic MCs jump like fleas
Playa haters get chopped like trees, a boy rascal to a boy in histories
Chorus:
It seems to be cars, (and) cash (and) girls (and) head, and manners on the flames better keep your eye out for them feds
It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed-pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJs, (and) MCs, (and) Gold rings, (and) Nikes we roll deep for the money we dont want no technicalities
It seems to be love (and) war (and) hate (and) life-harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life!
Verse 2
So far from clean, play kiss chase with your aunt Maureen
Get rhymes get heard get seen Dizzee run tings like Idi Armin
Keep vigilant keep on guard, we chuck grenades at Scotland Yard
r*tard get kicked hard real hard, leave death threats in your birthday card.
O my days what is he like? Dizzee.com Dizzee.bust mic
World wide web./east end, Dizzee.com jack your girlfriend!
Co.uk at the stopper, Bare-foot Pimp.holler
Frank Frasier .lyrical tank, Dizzee.com/going on stank
Chorus:
It seems to be cars, (and) cash (and) girls (and) head, and manners on the flames better keep your eye out for them feds
It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed-pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJs, (and) MCs, (and) Gold rings, (and) Nikes we roll deep for the money we dont want no technicalities
It seems to be love (and) war (and) hate (and) life-harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life!
Verse 3
Ding dong, its on, fake MCs wanna sing my song
Wanna test my react bring it on; wanna take me for a mong? (Nar thats wrong)
Hit em with the Jeet Kun Do, like key low blow leave bullet holes in the moschinos clothes
What like where the weed grows, carry condoms for the hoes
Back front inside out, Dizzee got the floor to make a boy white out
Six foot deep you could never climb out, I smoke the weed till my mum finds out
Front back outside in, bare-foot kids living on ging-seng
Blud make him like doggy-styling, in a dark park where the dark come in.
Chorus:
It seems to be cars, (and) cash (and) girls (and) head, and manners on the flames better keep your eyes out for them feds
It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed-pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJs, (and) MCs, (and) Gold rings, (and) Nikes we roll deep for the money we dont want no technicalities
It seems to be love (and) war (and) hate (and) life-harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life!
