Verse [1]:
Skepta
I was like how can I be stupid?
I got my Walkman in my top pocket
My headphones goin' into my blazer sleeve
You think I'm resting my head on my hand
Nah fam, I'm listening to music
What? You didn't know what I was doing?
I'm on the ball like Patrick Ewing
You better not get out your chair
Cause when you come back you'll be sitting in the gum I'm chewing
I kept actin' a fool 'til I left school
With one GCSE, screwin'
Hit the road, Li-...
Yo I got a little buzz
I left the road for my supporters that showed me love, aight'


Verse [2]:
Verse two
Alright alright
Junior
A.K.A Joseph Adenuga, left school with one GCSE
Self raising flour, two eggs and a ruler
I went home straight to the computer
My mum told me to turn it down
A couple years later - I'm in the jeweller
Picking up stuff that I only dreamed about being able to afford
I bought my dad a brand new car
Straight off the showroom floor, it weren't a Porsche
But it meant the same thing to him
Stop smiling Dad, jump in the thing
Emotional, I wanna cry
My eyes tingling
See
They wanna know how I'm on the way to a mill
But still, I keep it so real
Ok, I'm ready to answer the question
No deal
Just me and Sam that's a good team
Right now I'm living the hood dream
Me, Ghetts, Giggs and C
Repping the UK at the BET
And Tinchy Stryder once told me
"Skepta play the game but break the rules
Even if it's a fist fight take a tool
Even if it's one-per-person take it all"
'Cause nobody's praising Boy Better Know for getting off the ground
So I ain't jumping off my high horse anytime soon
'Cause it's just too far down
And I can hear man sayin' Skepta's gonna fall off, oxymoron
I run on to the grime MC pitch and kick the ball off, what
It's Skepta the listeners wanna hear more of
You had a little buzz but it wore off
I don't wanna hear no talk about sawn-off
I kick the door off
Run up in the house like God forgive me if I hurt any children
Can't take me for Paris Hilton
You better know I'm a Tottenham Temple soldier
Hold tight Mr. Wilson
Call me a lyrical author
I specialise in lyrical slaughter
And if you think he's better than me
Then you ain't got taste like water
No matter how hard you try to
You can never make duppy like I do
Any way you wanna hide I'll find you
Do I have to remind you that I'm on a one man ting
But I got a big family like Patel and Singh
So when I go make me a duppy
Nobody knows who boyed off the ting
They're like "Skepta what's poppin?"
So I told them Ace of Spades
Me, Scholar, Rapid and Gracious K
Treat the champagne like a MAC-10
When I get hold of it I pop it off and spray
Plus my cousin Dwight just come outta jail
So I'm celebratin' today
I'm like "hip-hip hooray"
I won't stop
I cleaned up with a broom and a mop
And now I got IBS on my intestines feelin' like it's tied in a knot
Tim, it must be all the champagne
I'm a Dan like Marc and Zane
Heavy-weight champion so you know I had to get Frank Warren on my album campaign
A lot of money's exchanged in accounts
I'm talking bout' stupid amounts
All your cheques are like a basketball
They bounce
You man are air like Michael Jordan
Better still you man are like Rodman
Big shout to my bruddas in Tottenham
That love me like they love Game in Compton
Yo, its Joseph
I get dough, bread, Hovis
Plus, me and my paper stick together like Sticha and Otis
Girl better know, Boy Better Know dis'
I bought an R6 got chased by the boydem and got shift
I got a fine and a 6-month driving ban so I sold it
Fam-a-lam I'm fine
Boy Better Know is the label, I'm already signed
I'm the reason anyone over 25 still listens to grime
Yeah take that to heart
My ears burning from the talk in the yard
"N-nah man I don't like grime
But you see that guy Skepta, he's hard"
Nah you can't do it like me
Part-time criminal, full-time MC
Feds wanna lock up the IC3
Because I don't play like a blank CD
It's the way that I am with the women
I merked every single dance that I've been in
Commercial artist, still one of grime's hardest
Stuck in the middle like sandwich filling

Bwah