Yeah you know what time it is, bruv.
Man talk reckless but can’t back it up
Let’s set the record straight.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
All hype talk, but you soft like pita,
Flex online, but in real life weaker
Pipe down, fam, I’m the headline feature.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
Big man chat, but your flow’s amnesia,
Forgot your bars when the crowd got deeper
Tryna be a don? I’m the whole Grim Reaper.
You move bait, bruv, like a Poundland trap,
Cheap talk, weak walk, no sound, just cap,
Your crew all shook when the riddim goes slap
I bring smoke like a tower block flat.
Your flow outdated, mine’s tech upgrade,
I’m next-gen don, you cassette-tape made,
Tryna spar with me? You’ll fade like blade —
My pen sharp, carve names in shade.
No cap, I’m truth, not myth or meme,
You dream for streams, I’m streamin’ dreams,
Your bars so dead they need Listerine
Fam, you’re background noise in my scene.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
All hype talk, but you soft like pita,
Flex online, but in real life weaker —
Pipe down, fam, I’m the headline feature.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
Big man chat, but your flow’s amnesia,
Forgot your bars when the crowd got deeper —
Tryna be a don? I’m the whole Grim Reaper.
You’re all bark, no bite, I’m the pit in the park,
You dim in the dark, I’m lit like spark,
Talk greasy online, but your tone gone stark —
When I step in the booth, you just lose that arc.
I don’t chase clout, I make ground shake,
You just chase trends, that’s your first mistake,
Copy man’s slang, tryna look awake,
But your accent cracks when the crowd awake.
Boss in the bits, no myth, no cap,
Bars on tap like a pub in Hack,
Drop one tune, then you go off-map
Still top tier, that’s facts on facts.
I don’t need no label, no fake co-sign,
Built this grime line brick by rhyme,
You beg for clicks, I grind for time,
You post bare pics, I post punchlines.
Bassline breathes, last bar climbs
Punchlines land every time.
You’re a soft-tone talker with a wish-wash scheme,
I’m a frost-bit spitter with an on-site beam.
You talk next man’s name for the algorithm scheme,
But I talk truth that’s the London theme.
When I rhyme, it’s raw no gloss, no filler,
Every bar cold like a Thames-side driller,
You’re lukewarm tea, I’m straight tequila,
End your set quick like a bad Godzilla.
Mind that talk, bub, mind that ego,
Man can’t stunt when they sound placebo,
Bars got weight like a fully-packed kilo
You? Just a name on my B-side demo.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
All hype talk, but you soft like pita,
Flex online, but in real life weaker —
Pipe down, fam, I’m the headline feature.
Chill bub, the way you wine makes you sound like a queef lip Tifa,
Big man chat, but your flow’s amnesia,
Forgot your bars when the crowd got deeper —
Tryna be a don? I’m the whole Grim Reaper.
VAERX
