Evolving, how many days will it take to hit another level?
I'm a short term wrangler, won't take long
There is not another spitter that I won't take on
If you lose well then get off
Winners stays on, winner plays on, winner like the Malmaison
I'm a winner, my vibes like a rave full of 20 thousand people don't bother puttin' hate on
I don't wanna hear a thing that you wanna say wrong
Silly choice, silly move, idiot things
Silly me, silly you, delete your thing
We're bigger than this, I'll defeat your king
God knows I try calm but he goes in
He's just an MC but but goes in
Their style is whack like its a repro thing
I'm going in, I ain't coming out
I got a style and it ain't running out
But my life's running out, we don't live forever
However my music can live forever, whatever
Tell a man chat to a badman bredda
And you can't fool me but you act quite clever
Sun, sea and sand well that's my weather
Whether or not you like me silly, whatever
I count money, I'm mature with cheddar
I don't care if you're the rawest bredda
On my own I'm running your estate no fair like blow I'm a tourist bredda
What now then? you must have thought I was a Klein like Calvin
I don't take care of chipmunks My name ain't Alvin
I got a space where I'm living it's out of town housing
Suck your mother I might say that
If you wanna hear it again, play it back
I don't peck with pickney raise that, like a dad without the Maybach
(Boodoodoodoodadadada)
It's Wiley again
None of them better not try me again
You're forgetting I'm a giant like Haystacks
Battle anybody for a 8 stack
I take your 8 stacks
Put it my grey sack, put it on my back then I move off ASAP
I am music but I'm not Arab
My name's Eski, I'm sitting on the clouds where the best be, take that
Shut your mouth though, cause I'm a don
Don't get me wrong when I'm singing a song
I go back to the war start bringing it on
What, you play ball and you think you're LeBron
You might spend 5 days all picking a song
By then I'm on a racetrack winging along, gone
I do it right and you're doing it wrong
Like what type of mic are you doing it on
You know half good MC's ruin a song
I'm like why are they doing it wrong, that's long
I'm evolving, in the free zone like Major Colvin, everybody's rolling
I stack that money 'til I'm blue in the face
I go fast like I flew in a race
I'm on the title I kill off any rivals
Nobody's really spitting on the beat
Nobody's steady, they're liable
Think your bad but you can't do a fireball
My kind of style ain't buyable
You gotta earn it, you gotta learn it
Your kind of style ain't viable
When it's a grime thing
I'm on the track fighting
Saying stuff I ain't just rhyming
Better listen up clear when I'm hyping
On the Rosé, not the White Lightning
If a soundboys dead and he calls my name
I roll up and its like I revive him, par
I should have let him fade out lightly
Them ever getting anywhere weren't likely
Yeah I'm Wiley, you say don't like me so what
I'm not a show off
But when I'm about it's a road block
Stop thinking of old songs, move on
Go change your old top
Them spitters are good but their flow's not
As tight as mine I'm like an old knot
They got bullied in school like an Allcot
God I'm in control I'm not a Rover
Here's how I evolve I can't hold off
So many chatting on the cliff but they roll off
Climb back up but by then I float off
Inner souls can't front until it goes off
My future's bright, it's orange
Kush I smoke weed
Not brown in a syringe
I go jogging, my fam might ask for me
My mum says "I ain't seen nothing of him"
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