Lowkey: Fire in the Booth I



Whether you’re in HMV or KFC, HMP or A&E
I make them see a-n-d. let you know the c-a-s-e
From LDN not NYC, on the m-i-c I’m M.I.B.,
Like BIG the MVP, VIP to the e-n-d
E.g., my CD, is way to d-e-e-p
That goes for your TV screen, DVD or BBC
ITN or ITV, C-O-Ps say “ID please”
S-t-o-p like IC3, wanna see me hooked to an IV, g
In the ICU but Im n-o-t, they went OT with the m-o-b
Can’t see me through the f-o-g
Don’t cuss mothers of S.O.B’s
These MC’s are OAPs
Wanna hype up I’m like “okay, g.”
You think you’re b-a-d
Get a p-e-n and a p-a-d
If the CIA and the FBI, the MI6 and the MI5
Jump on the A3 then I drive, turn up the A/C, FYI
MJ like P.Y.T,, lol I never T.Y.P
I e-a-t on E.I.D, twist the C.I.D like Levi Jeans
D-i-e like BNP; EDL just BFG’s.
Youths don’t want no GCSE’s they want C.O.D. on the PS3
I’m like DP, or PE, or KRS from BDP
Download this on your MP3
Send it to your MP & MTV
You’re not on this thing like A.D.D
Your CD I rate PG
Like KKK’s with AK’s
My A.K.A is AA
Take you off the road ASAP
DDT these JLS MC’s
What you just saw basically
Is how to murder the ABC’s
Cause I’m back in the booth
Rappers wanna chat about the strap they got stashed in the back of their boot
But I chat to the youths
Abstract or back-packed my attributes and stack to the roof
I capture the truth
Pour it on tracks with my views, and I’ll sell it out the back of the boot
I’m positive you’re negative, you’re whack and confused
I’m back and the fact is your dad’s in the room
Ain’t a track that you rappers can battle with
Every track that I spat is immaculate
Any track that I smash, I’m attacking it
Heard you rap fam, your tracks are inadequate
Your CD was cack, it was crap, I’m dashing it
You follow fashion with rap, I’m passionate
Blood start’s splashing – your whip – you dash in it
Said you were packing a mac in the back of it
Kizzy, I’m busy, I’m really a brilliant guy
It’s gritty and shitty but really the city is mine
If you diss me, pity the silly billy to try
From Bricky to Piccadilly to Mississippi I’m live
Getting rid of you Milli Vanilli’s, gimme the vibe
Get jiggy like Willy spitting the wittiest rhymes
Uncivilised, ignorant, diligent type
And I victimise an idiot a million times
Hey hey, we ray rays will spray flames
Take snakes off the road like AA
So waste brays, vacate, and make space
You bait fakes ain’t straight, you stay fake
We chase papes, you chase dames like ‘Babes wait!’
On a lay-lay you date rape to save face
In the same place, we maintain and ain’t changed
We make tapes that rake papes like Kay-Slay
Don’t dismiss or diss this we live this from Lisbon to Ipswich
For instance the dick’s got your sister addicted
Oh look, big tits came for a quick fix
You’re limper than Bizkit you nitwits
A monster, a beast, when I stomp on the beat
If the nonsense you speak is not gonna cease
Unconscious but leave unconscious MCs
Don’t respond to the beef if your nonces or neeks
Get ill up on the rhythm when I kill ’em on a lyrical
Finish up my dinner then I drill ’em with a syllable
Don’t really care what you did and what you didn’t do
Little fools are minuscule, spitting isn’t difficult
You find your mind cause I’m out of mine
Fuck a pound sign, came for the crown of grime
I told you once, I told you a thousand times
I’m a fountain of acid, you’re alkaline
You alcoholics are out of line
Got a mountain to climb if your mouth is lying
Bow to his highness, I’m bound to shine
Let me coach you on vocals and how to rhyme
Think I’m vexed with your indirects
If I spit rhymes next I will slit five necks
I’m a big time threat, to your pissed sly vets
This guy lives life inside stress
I’m the best in the game, not impressed with the fame
I’m testing my aim if I send for your name
The successful are lame, they kept it the same
But whatever the weather, it’s destined to change
Couldn’t give a fuck for your creps and your chains
You slobber on the mic like a sket giving brain
I’m mental, deranged, crush temples and frames
My pencil will end you like petrol and flames
Burn like syphilis, you nerds are privileged
When I die you can say that you heard the sickest spit
My verse it limitless, the earth is spinning quick
Pure words of wickedness that I merk the rhythm with
Heard you were good, It’s a shame that you’re not
Don’t care about your chain or the fame that you got
Keep my name on your brain cause I came for your spot
What you’re making is pot, they say it’s a lot
You’re whack bro with your cat flow
But you’re whack though put your cap low
Prat go back home
This monster is stronger than Castro’s backbone
I attack those little fat bowcats so…
Don’t ever get arrogant
Don’t start panicking, phone your management
Mumbling, man are in the manor getting mad again
Don’t care about your swagger, mandem, or medallion
What’s the matter then, maggot where’s your magnum?
When there’s beef, mandem are missing like Madeleine
I’ve been badder than you and your bag of men
What’s happening when I kill ’em with a pad and pen
Ain’t got the bars in your pad to match me
Me I’m so fast, you should catch a taxi
Have you got the picture like Paparazzi?
You lack the facts that go back-to-back, b
When I watch you rap it’s like crazy comedy
I got a ‘don’t rate fake G’ policy
Fuck your awards, I don’t rate these nominees
Just little fickle Jay-Z wannabes
You hobos are old and It’s oh so true
No promo, logo, or photo-shoot
Fuck your postcode, MOBO and polo suit
My opponents are hoping I won’t go through
I’m certainly burning these burglars verbally
Merking these merkers ’til mercenaries murder me
Burst in and turnin’ your Burberry burgundy
Guernsey to Germany, Jersey to Bermondsey
True rhymes, ain’t got a pen? You can use mine
Ain’t stayin’ underground like a tube line
I’m’ma come through and shine, in due time
Which one of you pricks said I can’t do grime?
Genre crosser, nonsense stopper
Continent stomper, the conscious monster
The freedom fighter, deepest writer
Beat up cyphers, the peoples’ rhymer
I’m bond to get iller, the sound effects killer
The Malcolm X spitter, the alphabet killer
Not a player hater, lady dater
Maybe later a baby maker
I get slept on like old pyjamas
Will I blow up like boats in the harbour?
You spit fire, I’m molten lava
Flow so cold I scold your father
Sold your soul for gold and Prada
Who do you know who’s flow goes harder?
It’s over partner, you know the answer
Drop bombs on the rhythm, no Obama
Baseline murderer, fake guy hurter, race line hurdler
Face flying all over the place like furniture
I’m back so hard might break my vertebrae
Beat breaker, heat taker, sheet of paper cremator, since a teenager
DJs can’t be BKRs cause if they do they’ll get PAR’d
I’m back so let me see, the facts are very deep
You prats will never see, I rap to any beat
Pack the pen and P, practice every week
Attack the melody, and smash my enemies
Not a sent bro, but you’re getting dough
With a bent flow jacking off Jay-Z like a little klepto
And the tempo went slow
Done a lot in my lifetime, I was retro
Everybody bow to the king cause he’s back
Whether or not radio was in his track
Forget Nas and his dad cause I’m bridging the gap
You think it’s just rap, but it’s bigger than that
If it’s tit for tat, I got the gift of the gat
What you spit is just shit, blood, stick to the facts
You itch like a cat that’s addicted to crack
I’m sick of you Prats, cause you shitheads is whack
I’m a G, any beat, I will damage
Very deep, whether it be grime or garage
Enemies better flee, I won’t have it
You’ll never be ahead of me you blind old maggot
If you really really live crime, don’t chat it
If you really really got a 9, go grab it
Then, if you’re live, don’t hide, don’t panic
Just ride like a psycho that might go manic
Don’t settle with the rest, cause I’m better than the best
Not just clever, yes I’m intelligent and best you
Better invest in some weapons and a vest
You veterans are vexed, irrelevant and stressed
Keep telling us your rep, but you never get respect
You fed up cause seven of your regiments are messed
You could get a bit of press for that ice on your neck
It’s not credit, it’s a debt
I’m here for the beat, just save all the nonsense
Murk it whether a rave or a concert
When I’m on stage, make way for the monster
Key to the Game: I came, toured, and conquered
Spit on your bars, I spray more for longer
You spit boring, chainsaw’s are stronger
You’re a boxer, wait, you’re a mobster
Ain’t got time for fake fraud impostors
I’m a champ, deep MC and it’s blatant
But tramps wanna sleep on me like a pavement
When I speak, I leave them chiefs in amazement
Meanest genius, I’m free like a mason
But I don’t sleep with police at the station
I’m writing my rhymes, you’re completing your statement
Running from the swine while you’re eating your bacon
Don’t rip beats, I beat them and break ’em
Most MCs don’t believe them or rate ’em
It’s no secret, these neeks are just hating
Keep on saying that my team isn’t flaming
Light fire like them trees that you’re blazing
Double P, trouble we, there’ll be an invasion
Test us? Get left deep in the basement
Don’t care whether you’re from Ealing or Leyton
Middle Eastern or Asian…
Little man never did exams
Got a particular bigger plan flippin’ grams
‘Til a bigger man in his gang gave him a stick to bang
Or maybe just hold cause no one thought he would kill a man
‘Till he caught a silly billy villain, chillin’ in a jam
Sippin’ champs, spliff in his hand, trigger didn’t jam…
Bang bang biddy bang biddy biddy bang
Now he’s in the can thinkin’ “Damn, what a pity fam.”
Rappers are yapping and flapping their lips
‘Bout how they’re packing and clapping their sticks
Has to be big, the impact it has on the kids
Tell me where the factory is
When the government kill, they’re just stacking their chips
You wonder why the yout-dem are strapped and they’re pissed
If not a nine, it’s a knife getting jabbed in your ribs
People die for the petrol, the gas in our whips
In London, you can get shanked in the heart
Still the government put more tanks in Iraq
Ignorant little spitters are talking greasy
Cause they bitten bitties that they saw on TV
If all you rap about is the hoes and the dough
It’s already too late, you sold ’em your soul
You jokers act like you know but you don’t
Cause there’s little kids dying all over the globe
Many say they know what revolution could be
But many don’t know what revolution would mean
It would mean blood, it would mean pain
But it could be us to bring that change
Little hypocrites are spittin’ typical nonsense
Am I blackballed because of political content?
Laugh at my people while you criminals bomb them
Militant on the rhythm, I’m killing you on the song then
History you won’t read in a textbook
Kunta Kinte, I bleed from my left foot
Never see me on the TV with Jedward
Tell the BBC they need me on Westwood