Next Up - S3-EP2

[Intro]

Sykes, Sykes

Sykes, Sykes

Sykes, Sykes

That's style and patterns from my times in North West

Two gyal wanna grab me up

But I got two 'ands and I can't touch four breast (Huh)

Sykes, Sykes (Whoof)

[Verse 1]

It's like I take this risk

I gotta get these bands up, huh

You try copy the drip man stoppin' the drip

Now the boy looks bankrupt

It's like bro bro fresh out of jail

Last week, twenty-three, I was a banger

Got gelato smoke you're smokin' haze

Likkle man you're a jankra

[Verse 2]

Me and bro in a two-door veek

And the seat laid back and I'm looking for zombies

Took a trip to Oxford Station

True say I heard the cats there were cockney

It's like even if I took that trip

Back then [?] when I dropped

These times it was [hobby?]

Rum, one Oasis juice

That's style and patterns from my times in North West

Two gyal wanna grab me up

But I got two 'ands and I can't touch four breasts

Bro bro all in my case like serious now

We need two more riddims

But I ain't like your average rapper

Man's quick in and out with scales and kittles

Ayy, ayy, ayy

[Verse 3]

Clare like yo, where you been?

She don't really care 'bout no quarantine

And this [?] got my body lean

Two in a door but I'm shotting three (Wait)

So where's that magic mix

I'm four and a half I can turn to six

And this Indian gyal that's the baddest bitch

M way doing up some Roddy Ricch

I put racks in the middle

And I just put this Audi in sport, of course (Nyom)

This veeks ain't mine

Well at least there's company for, ahlie

You wanna sign this contract

You gotta do it [?] from my spot

And I swear my zando is hot

It's comin' out of wage if bandos ain't locked

Man these [?] deep

I tell him calm down on a rassclaat dog (Woof)

'Cah that's too much woofing

And in my DT class I went cooking

But I'm in this bando sink like I'm juggin'

Pyrex filled to the top of the brim

You can see the way that it's lookin', ah

[Verse 4]

Man it's kind of mad

Price went up on a B

Now I gotta sell mine for a bit more

Wait, two for fifteen that's poor

Now they don't go for less than a score

Wait man you hear that knock at that door

Man it could be Jakes or Jake just wants more

I don't give a fuck as long as they score

Traphouse boomin' wait, is yours?

Tires keep spinnin'

Give me the call if you get this drop

I need an [?]

And ice up my wrist with [?]

It's ten bags in notes

Man it could've been a loss if the spot got raided

Man I swear that white man was racist

Called Jake come, he's too scared in his spaceship

If I would've clocked his plates

No doubt about it woulda dragged him out

No grievous bodily 'arm

Just a quick punch up and a slap around

I told bro cool off with the kits

And it's countless times that he's slept around

So if the spot does get raided

Don't even think to come back around

Send me your location, Dave

Wait, and I'll be there in a jiffy

Only got nine-thirty I can't leave yet

Now I need three more kitties

Remember we circled town

But now Achilles sits in vacant spots

I swear the cat works with the feds

Like how did he know that the station's hot

Still pull up on a next one

But the best one tryna get on this one, so

That's eighties Harlem shifting both

Lucas style with the mink [?] coat

Grab me bandos and sticky notes

When I swear I went down some risky roads

That's traphouse riskin' lows

Switch up the spot if the neighbours know (Woi, woi)

[Outro]

Frosty