Lyrics
Yo, it's six blocks, a nigga in my rear view
Gun on my lap like, "Homie, I dare you"
He pulled up, I said, "Yo, you prepared to
Be Michael Jordan? 'Cause I'm about to air you"
Shot him in the ear, boo, sorry I can't hear you
Shot him in the back of his head, a new hairdo
What's the matter, mami? Oh, did I scare you?
Skip that, check this, everything I wear is new
That's wrist to the wrist, yes sir, fitted the kicks
All of my shit is legit 'cause I get the grits from the bricks
In the Ritz with some chicks, they being friends with the clique
One slim, the other one four hundred Benjamins thick
I surrendered the brick, mami inventing some shit
Bank man (Bank slam), nah, don't mention it, bitch
It come to cash, I hold the shit with a gremlin's grip
They feeling you, pa? Nah, they been a hot dick
We the first British crew to rep, ha, give minimal respect
I had to stretch for every decimal I get (Oh)
Still hustling, scheming for a cheque
I got that white though with white though, streaming on a jet (Swoosh)
I'm not with the faking, please, locksmiths exchanging keys
Oil and flour, they call my block the bakery
Zoom through the cameras with Euro ambassadors
Our goons are cartoons, you a character
Stay fly preferably, but these guys is worse than thieves
Birthed by me, swaggerjackers certainly
We posted in Poland, Russia, swerving fees
France with Les Goonies, you heard of me in Germany
In the US, veterans I birthed
From their chicks get interest, Federal Reserve
The girls get a rush when I make songs
I get my space on, I'm James Bond
The world's not enough, runway
Yo, we got them bars locked like it's prohibition
They just show up clicking, no admission
And you claiming that you're global, you got no proof
I'm raving in Sicily on dancefloors with no roof
On my way to the city to lick some blonde hotties
I step through with the nephew of Chong Gotti (Skeet)
And you ain't sold no yay
See, I'm piffing while we listening to Loso's wave
Putting work, I'm on my job (I'm on it)
See, the proof is in the pudding, check the flight log
Rumour has it that them faggots wanna try rob me
Please, that's music to my ears, no iPod
Gwan like he cold, I ain't a coward neither
He a nasty piece of work, a foul creature
Since he scheming, have him leaning like the Tower of Pisa
He was here, now he gone, alopecia