Lyrics

[Verse 1: Central Cee] —until we broke the law If I lived in Harlem, I would've been Mitch, them man would've been like Ace and snitched If it was Oakland, I would've been a pimp If it was 1930, North Carolina, I would've been Frank with the— If the opps got nominated for the-, we would've— And the, and the G17 would've came with a— (Let's go!) [Chorus: Central Cee & 21 Savage] If it weren't the UK, would've had a AK-47 with a hundred— Red carpet in my trackie and Air Max, they want a boy with a London— We ain't got generational wealth, got a couple of mill' for my unborn child If I pay man a hundred thousand pound, I can get man (Okay, sing!) That's GBP, the price go up if it's USD (21) Bеtter watch your words, I'll get you X'd 'bout the shit you tweet (On God) I told lil' bro if it's pеrsonal, he better jump out and do it on feet (21) We got somethin' in common with scuba divers, why? 'Cause the guys in deep [Verse 2: 21 Savage & Central Cee] Latex gloves, I'm on a drill, watch 'em fall, Jack and Jill Up on the opps, seven to nil, (I see you lot!) Premier League, I'm in the field Two things that you'll never see is me run from an opp or a bitch in my will Got day ones, and I'm with them still, fightin' demons, swallowin' pills (You know!) I still want a deal with— Nike (On God) I can't get caught on no Ring, so I'm inside-outtin' the shiesty (Where the 21 fans at?)(Straight up) We go through the front door 'cause they gon' tell when that back door shit get spicy (Rats) Internet beef, if I catch you in traffic, the fuck you gon' do, nigga, type me? (O2 sing!)(Pussy) I put this on God, I hit the bitch once, she already tryna be wifey (Damn) I'm from the street and I got opps, I don't got time to go sightsee (Damn) Wake me up with head, put this in your purse and shut the fuck up if you like me (21) (Ayo, listen) I'll fill up your closet with Birkins, buy you a wagon, and make sure you icy (Alright) (One more time, O2) [Chorus: Central Cee & 21 Savage] Alright, if it weren't the UK, would've had an AK-47 with a hundred rounds Red carpet in my trackie and Air Max, they want a boy with a London— We ain't got generational—