{Intro}
Yeah
On your marks, you ain't ready for man
Yo

[Chorus]
I said I'm sick with it, fucking rip it till the beats finished
I spit an image when I pay the mic a visit
Got an evil sort of spirit but I'm classy like a violinist
Even though the lyrics are explicit, fam, you need to get wid it
On your marks, I swear this is just the start
Right here and the finish line is so far apart
But I'm grinding like Tony
Tell him "Don't phone me", I can't class him as my homie

[Verse 1]
Put your trainers on, it's time to get the cake in don
When you hear the bang, set off the blocks and get the racing on
When I write a tune I hit the booth and get to lacing one
How many MC's are overtaking? (None)
Fuck it, pick the speed up, I might need to lift my knees up
Nah, I ain't from Peckham, but I'm tryna get my P's up
Tell a man to ease up when I spit I switch the greaze up
Or I might come with it cold and move my engineer to freeze up (Hahaha)
I just holla'd at WhYJay, told him I cooked up something fresh, he said "Why wait?"
Roll to the studes, I'll be there in a few I said when I drop this set man'll be like "Why Aitch?" (Why)
'Cause I'm in Manny's top 5 and there's no doubt about it
'Cause when I drop lines, I build a sound around it
Around guys that'll place the fist right where your mouth is
Yeah, I'm from north but I got dons located in the south bits
[Chorus]
Sick with it, fucking rip it till the beats finished
I spit an image when I pay the mic a visit
Got an evil sort of spirit but I'm classy like a violinist
Even though the lyrics are explicit, fam, you need to get wid it
On your marks, I swear this is just the start
Right here and the finish line is so far apart
But I'm grinding like Tony
Tell him "Don't phone me", I can't class him as my homie

[Verse 2]
When I bring out a tune everyone gets so gassed
That they ain't even realised my work rates shit
I write bars when I want and take all the time I need
To be honest, I don't think I know what work rate is
But if I put my mind to it I could probably shine through it
When I'm feeling stressed, I play a beat and rhyme to it
You can send but why do it? 'Cause you know that I slew it
If there's a big brick wall in front of me, I'll fly through it
Like, uh, fam I need this I'm hungry for it
Man don't want a feature, don't want the white younger on it
Fuck 'em, YouTube I'm doing numbers on it
Beats so cold I need to put a fucking jumper on it
Tell 'em if they want it they can come and get it, standard
Come through with a mic in front of bare bystanders
I don't know what you're thinking don, your girl's got standards
Why d'you think that when you call the bitch she never answers?
[Chorus]
I'm sick with it, fucking rip it till the beats finished
I spit an image when I pay the mic a visit
Got an evil sort of spirit but I'm classy like a violinist
Even though the lyrics are explicit, fam, you need to get wid it
On your marks, I swear this is just the start
Right here and the finish line is so far apart
But I'm grinding like Tony
Tell him "Don't phone me", I can't class him as my homie