R.I.P. Jaykae Part 1

Lyrics

[Intro] Sox lost, Jaykae lost in the dungeon I heard he can't even get his Hype Session out on time I heard he ain't even writ one Jaykae, wha gwarn blud? [Verse] What scene you running? I checked your catalogue, you ain't on nothing I checked your street cred, you ain't on nothing The only thing you're on is Stellas and muffins You had a bit of ket, you think you're on scuffing If I back out my swammy [?] [?] deep in the south Knee-deep niggas that'll run in your house Gun buck and push man's face in the couch, man's gang I'll have my New Cross niggas on man [?] you're right, Jaykae is a fan Your last sixteen is as old as my nan I don't know a Jaykae song that bangs You verse me, that's overly bants I'm dirtee like stank, man know where I am All for this, Jaykae don't get a plan How dare you Your breath stinks, girls don't come near you Nobody fears you, what, is it time, fam? I should have aired you, that shit's peak Not even better than me on a bad week You followed man to a next country For a booking, didn't even spit, you sheep Yeah that's peak, yeah that's a mockery If you're gonna send for me, send for me properly Me as a kid, I used to eat my sprouts 'cause Big man ting, man didn't like broccoli Look, what's man gonna do now? I murk everything, what you gonna slew now? This shit here ain't going to the fourth round King of the south, king, it ain't your town If I was you, my G, fam, I would cool down Talk about the bin Now let's talk about real things Tell the fans why you went jail I'll tell the fans why you went jail A parking fine, a breach of bail A girl told me that your boxers smell I'm like a [?] like a pre-built Acer Bet you thought I was gonna say Dell I'm too classy Weren't gonna clash 'til Ratty asked me We smoke cheese, you man sniff Charlie Mole on your face looks like it has parties Yeah, see, my flow's toxic A Nike tracksuit weren't sick 'til I rocked it Brazilian top weren't big 'til I mocked it White gold chain, gold watch, man's frosted You're shit I heard your verse, shit Jaykae EP, shit Even his clash is shit, and you ain't no Bugz or Chip Or Dizzee or Titch, and DJ Three can't mix And DJ still can't rip My nigga, 'bout four-week benders Dem man are juj, they have gay weekenders Pussyhole ting, he can't handle the sentence Ah, watch me blaze the mic, cuz There's no way anyone's taking my buzz Fuck every prick, I'll blaze the mic 'cause I'm a vet Went to the dance in black, not red Your flow's tired, you should send that bed Any funny business, everybody dead All makes sense that you work with the feds [Outro] Listen, anyone that fucking doubts me Make sure you get that Lord of the Mics DVD Twenty-fifth of September Jaykae, fuck yourself