Low Riddim

[Intro] Serious Hold tight DJ YoungBlood Hold tight Sergeant, YoungBlood, yeah Jme still here Yeah Not gone nowhere Not in prison or in jail But hold tight the man in prison styll Hold tight Bossman Birdie Hold tight Trigga, hold tight Skepta J-M-E Hold tight Big H, President T [Verse] Alright, everybody knows you're some goody-goody That screwface and that Rocawear hoodie just ain't working Sorry, bredrin, I'm Buzz Lightyear and you come like Woody Look at my man bigging up his chest, looks like man's tryna grow some breast Stop that, before you get an arch back, I don't know who my man's tryna impress Everybody knows that I shot O's, and I make P's, shot Q's like Kano Under my tongue is where they go, shotting since Wiley had cane row To make dough you need sense, I still don't throw away five pence One cat thought I was dense, owed me a lump sum and he tried jump some fence Everybody says that garage should stop 'cause it's cheap like Calypso or Tip-Top MCs turn UK Hip Hop, scared their debut album will flop I'm flogging food like a chip-shop, so I'll turn to that shit if this flops Plus I go uni so if shit pops off with the cops, trust me, I've got it locked From day one, I said I was serious But nobody took me serious For dem boy, I go to the rave And I spit in the rave, and I spit in their face For the disrespect, 'cause I am serious Boy Better Know I am serious Jme don't take no shit Boy that don't like Jme, listen up You're not serious, 'cause you got your name on your Nike Air Dunks, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious cause you shot two kis of punk, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious, I don't care if you've got a yout, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious cause you got an Akademiks tracksuit, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious cause you got low-profile tyres, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious cause your name's on couple flyers, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious, I don't care if you've got your own drum, blud I'll beat you up! You're not serious, can't clash Jme, are you dumb, blud? I'll beat you up! Alright, rudeboy, calm down Acting like you've been smoking brown You've got a Tigra, you're not raw I'll put air vents in your car door Alright, rudeboy, just shush Acting like you've been smoking bush You're not big in the scene I'll put air vents in your windscreen Blud, you've been smoking the rocks again Bare air you're getting, bare oxygen Cause Jme mic controller Turns to Jme air vent installer And I've got bare ammo like Smarties Install air vents in your arteries If you run, air vents in your creps Jme's delivering air to your doorstep When I started the game, I picked up a cue Every five minutes, I get two shots Never get caught with the white in the pocket I get rid of the 8 ball in couple shots I cut the 8 ball by eye 'Cause in maths, I weren't a fool The real guys understand what I shot But the little boys think I'm talking 'bout pool Yeah blud, you're a bat Don't let me have to draw for the bat 'Cause I will draw blood like bat Hit you with the bat, make you fly like a bat You batty Yeah blud, you're a bat Don't let me have to draw for the bat The bat will make you fly four yards You remind me of a pack of cards 'Cause you've got bare diamonds, but you're a joker You get jacked four times like a smoker You shot four Qs and think you're dealing You're not a dealer, pick up two for mistake I can see that you got four fours But you won't buss them, you've got too much heart I only use spades and clubs in war Need to roll with a new pack or a start So, fuck the dojo Onto the beef like Mojo Jojo Don't come with no showlin' shit 'Cause I will leave you on the floor with a cold coat I'm a Street Fighter, so fuck the dojo Onto the beef like Mojo Jojo So don't come with no showlin' shit 'Cause I will leave you on the floor with a cold coat, no joke Serious, I know you think you're hench True say you've got a new weight bench That don't help, 'cause I've got a wrench And I've got an angry thirst to quench Trust, fling you over that fence Next time, think about consequence You batty boy, if you had sense You would not ask Jme for ten pence Serious, I know you think you're wide I don't know who told you but they lied If you had stress, then blud, it died Now, when you see me, you better hide Trust, not a ting about pride Stick around, you'll get fried Serious, 'cause I jacked your ride Won't tell nobody that you cried I need to go piss, go to the men's See two cats, shot two tens Shy tens in my 1.2 Can't test me and my on point crew Yeah, want food come to me Top shotter Jme O795OME-