Co-sign

It's show-it's-it's showtime

I don't need a sponsor or a co-sign

I ain't got to say my name, you know mine

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

You ain't going to treat me like I owe grime

Whilst crying, 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 you slow minds

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 ain't make believe

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 don't need Complex to put it in context

I'm one, two, three, four, five and six

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

Got a bunch of plaques and a bunch of hits

And I put us on main stage

We ain't even on the same page

We ain't the same age

I don't really want to engage

Or do they really want to see me get enraged?

Why you care so much what the States think?

I only care what the estates think

I was gripping on ends with bait licks

And ends ain't ever been the same since

And the game stinks 'cause you get excited about mediocre stuff

Maybe it's because you ain't old enough

Maybe you should listen to some older stuff

Maybe I'm just getting old and over stuff

Plus-plus-plus I'm old enough

To remember, radio picked them man there over us

Not trying to blow my own trumpet

Not one bit, 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

Or I deal with pricks who never done shit

I'm so far ahead before they even started, I was done with it

Let's face the facts

Let's forget the stats

Let's forget the plaques

Let's forget the tape packs with Wiley Kat, Raskit, back to back

If I ain't the Godfather, I must be God

There's nothing wrong with that

If you say I'm not, then you can keep your God

What kind of God is that?

You can't polish crap, but you can thank God for putting us on the map

And that's big chat

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

From the council flats

When you best the scene, you can't cancel that

But when you over-chat, they over react

Now let me shut my trap

Yeah, right

My bars are hard and they're tight

I ain't hating, I just don't see the hype

I'm like Stevie Wonder trying to ride a bike

I'm like Stevie Wonder trying to fly a kite on a cloudy night

No, I'm really like black dynamite, playing Iron Mic

We're the same blood type, but ain't alike

Now, get it right