Kozzie - R.I.P. Jaykae Part 1 lyrics
[Kozzie - R.I.P. Jaykae Part 1 lyrics]
Sox lost, Jaykae lost in the dungeon
I heard he can't even get his
Hype Session out on time
I heard he ain't even writ one
Jaykae, wha gwarn blud?
What scene you running?
I checked your catalogue
You ain't on nothing
I checked your street cred
You ain't on nothing
The only thing you're on
Is Stellas and muffins you had a bit of ket
You think you're on scuffing
If I back out my swammy deep in the south
Knee deep niggas that'll run in your house
Gun buck and push man's face in the couch
Man's gang
I'll have my New Cross niggas on man
You're right, Jaykae is a fan
Your last sixteen is as old as my nan
I don't know a Jaykae song that bangs
You verse me, that's overly bants
I'm dirtee like stank, man know where I am
All for this, Jaykae don't get a plan
How dare you
Your breath stinks, girls don't come near you
Nobody fears you, what, is it time, fam?
I should have aired you, that shit's peak
Not even better than me on a bad week
You followed man to a next country
For a booking, didn't even spit, you sheep
Yeah that's peak, yeah that's a mockery
If you're gonna send for me
Send for me properly
Me as a kid, I used to eat my sprouts 'cause
Big man ting, man didn't like broccoli
Look, what's man gonna do now?
I murk everything, what you gonna slew now?
This shit here ain't going
To the fourth round
King of the south, king, it ain't your town
If I was you, my G, fam, I would cool down
Talk about the bin
Now let's talk about real things
Tell the fans why you went jail
I'll tell the fans why you went jail
A parking fine, a breach of bail
A girl told me that your boxers smell
I'm like a like a pre-built Acer
Bet you thought I was gonna say Dell
I'm too classy
Weren't gonna clash 'til Ratty asked me
We smoke cheese, you man sniff Charlie
Mole on your face looks like it has parties
Yeah, see, my flow's toxic
A Nike tracksuit weren't sick
'til I rocked it
Brazilian top weren't big 'til I mocked it
White gold chain, gold watch, man's frosted
You're shit i heard your verse, shit
Jaykae EP, shit even his clash is shit
And you ain't no Bugz or Chip
Or Dizzee or Titch, and DJ Three can't mix
And DJ still can't rip
My nigga, 'bout four-week benders
Dem man are juj, they have gay weekenders
Pussyhole ting, he can't handle the sentence
Ah, watch me blaze the mic, cuz
There's no way anyone's taking my buzz
Fuck every prick, I'll blaze the mic 'cause
I'm a vet
Went to the dance in black, not red
Your flow's tired, you should send that bed
Any funny business, everybody dead
All makes sense that you work with the feds
Listen, anyone that fucking doubts me
Make sure you get that Lord of the Mics DVD
Twenty-fifth of September
Jaykae, fuck yourself
I heard he can't even get his
Hype Session out on time
I heard he ain't even writ one
Jaykae, wha gwarn blud?
What scene you running?
I checked your catalogue
You ain't on nothing
I checked your street cred
You ain't on nothing
The only thing you're on
Is Stellas and muffins you had a bit of ket
You think you're on scuffing
If I back out my swammy deep in the south
Knee deep niggas that'll run in your house
Gun buck and push man's face in the couch
Man's gang
I'll have my New Cross niggas on man
You're right, Jaykae is a fan
Your last sixteen is as old as my nan
I don't know a Jaykae song that bangs
You verse me, that's overly bants
I'm dirtee like stank, man know where I am
All for this, Jaykae don't get a plan
How dare you
Your breath stinks, girls don't come near you
Nobody fears you, what, is it time, fam?
I should have aired you, that shit's peak
Not even better than me on a bad week
You followed man to a next country
For a booking, didn't even spit, you sheep
Yeah that's peak, yeah that's a mockery
If you're gonna send for me
Send for me properly
Me as a kid, I used to eat my sprouts 'cause
Big man ting, man didn't like broccoli
Look, what's man gonna do now?
I murk everything, what you gonna slew now?
This shit here ain't going
To the fourth round
King of the south, king, it ain't your town
If I was you, my G, fam, I would cool down
Talk about the bin
Now let's talk about real things
Tell the fans why you went jail
I'll tell the fans why you went jail
A parking fine, a breach of bail
A girl told me that your boxers smell
I'm like a like a pre-built Acer
Bet you thought I was gonna say Dell
I'm too classy
Weren't gonna clash 'til Ratty asked me
We smoke cheese, you man sniff Charlie
Mole on your face looks like it has parties
Yeah, see, my flow's toxic
A Nike tracksuit weren't sick
'til I rocked it
Brazilian top weren't big 'til I mocked it
White gold chain, gold watch, man's frosted
You're shit i heard your verse, shit
Jaykae EP, shit even his clash is shit
And you ain't no Bugz or Chip
Or Dizzee or Titch, and DJ Three can't mix
And DJ still can't rip
My nigga, 'bout four-week benders
Dem man are juj, they have gay weekenders
Pussyhole ting, he can't handle the sentence
Ah, watch me blaze the mic, cuz
There's no way anyone's taking my buzz
Fuck every prick, I'll blaze the mic 'cause
I'm a vet
Went to the dance in black, not red
Your flow's tired, you should send that bed
Any funny business, everybody dead
All makes sense that you work with the feds
Listen, anyone that fucking doubts me
Make sure you get that Lord of the Mics DVD
Twenty-fifth of September
Jaykae, fuck yourself