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