[Verse: Mic Righteous]
Man, fuck Mic Righteous
He's just a Devlin copier
He ain't real, Lowkey's more popular
This little beach boy lives by the seashore
Seen more meat on a seahorse
Sorry blud, rather be that than a keyboard warrior
Rather be a friend of Lowkey's than a follower
You can go ask DVS about my ends, fam
He will tell you himself, it's poppin' off
I said, come to my manor I'll get Frank to drop you off
I said, come to my manor I'll get Frank to drop you down
Yeah I'm skinny, I will personally knock you out
Pull your fucking eyes out so you can watch you mouth

[Verse: Jaja Soze]
Boy, hold up, ain't that Jaja?
That Brixton dude, he's a prick, so is his brother Naja
I heard they got robbed, shanked twice with a dagger
But Jaja ain't hard and some rudeboy parred him
Have him running scared, jumping bushes in the garden
But Jaja ain't famous, that's some bullshit stardom
Plus I hate the way he raps, he sounds like he's from Harlem
Him, a boss? I beg you pardon!
Rat-tat-a-tat-tat, the fake don gorgon
Jaja's as real as a chick with a hard-on
Snitch, bitch boy, a moody marlon
Pork-eating Muslim, go and get your farm on
[Verse: Malik]
Fuck all these out of town rappers
Don't like them, can't stand their accents
All bunch of actors, living on the farmyard
But these bums have shotguns to rasclarts
And how long this prick been rapping?
Time soon done, is it ever gonna happen?
That's why I never listen to you dumb fucks
You lot drier than a nun's crotch
Man's better wash your hand before you at me
Chief, better brush your teeth before you chat me
And if you talk to me the wrong way
Your life will end quicker than my part in 1 Day

[Verse: Exo]
Fuck Exo, that little weed fiend
Always barking "hey blud" but he's B-team?
Little pretty boy, little fake prick
I swear it sounds like Koke, he don't make hits
He got 20,000 downloads though
That's free, kiss my teeth, no P, fuck USG
And I swear he got gummed up by them man
He dropped off since, them fucking wasteman
He never barked back, bloody got moved
And he can't rap, cause he shot food
Blud, I move like most and I scream you know
'Cause I know you don't, pussy
[Verse: Logic]
Fuck Logical, political pussy
[?] but wants to be a mussy
I know man from the same ends say he's mushy
Phony, black boy who wants to be Lowkey
Always says salute on the track but we don't salute you right back so fuck off
Your positive bars we've had enough of
Why don't you find a bridge, fam, and jump off?
And he claims he's got an army to back him
Can we got to the next show he's got and jack him?
Fuck the army, yeah, the whole crew sucks
Come show man the meaning of true talk

[Verse: English Frank]
Frank, that fat short little cocky white prick
Talking about 500 keys, that fool's chatting shit
Well if you've been shottin' for 10 years, that's less than one a week
How you work that out? 52 times 10 is 520
My brother told me [?] three-box of cheese for three Gs
And if you bought a box of the flake, it also come in a monkey
Alright, I give him that, that might be true, he might have moved a few
But he never bang up for his ends or real up for his crew
So you think if you don't bang up for your ends, that makes you soft?
Furthermore if you bang out for a dead ends, that means you lost?
A smart man would never kill man over a postcode
He probably never used a gun, he probably never used a phone
Just a quiet word over lunch, exchanging the envelope
The flight overseas to the island, by the same time that you go
All these rappers talking about they let the ting go
They need to let the fucking ting go
Switch up the lingo and go back to bingo
I beat the shit outta you with no strap and no shank
No bat and no tank, just my elbows, knees and hands
I never bang up in the banks
Banks used to come to my house, do the accounts
Leave me with large amounts and leave with large amounts
If you weren't shottin' before '05, my lyrics won't amount
I stop shottin' in '08 but still I am about
Before I stopped, my cousin's never even heard of a child
Even during the drug trial, I had a key in the house