Lyrics Language: English Song writer/composer(s): Dylan Mills
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Dizzee RascalSeems 2 Be Lyrics:
Who’s that? Who’s that? Who’s that?
The dopest, flyest OG pimp hustler
Gangster player, hardcore motherfucker living today
To be honest, I’m totally and completely on his dick
And you know this, man
It’s the return of Dizzee Rascal
Dem bwoi, nah ready yet trend dat you never set
Silence, silence, silence dat
Stop that, start that, get that
Yeah, you know, going on dirty, going on stank
Yo, roll deep with these, put these MC’s on deep freeze
Hit these Whitney’s and rip these
I’m like Busta we flip these, so please
Don’t rap with these fearless, angry, sick MC’s
Don’t like Christine’s or Britney’s
Lala’s or Tinky Winky’s
And this one strictly for pick these?
Old school afro, dry white beats
Barclays Halifax, we stick these
Endless gunshots, we lick these
Trick these CID’s with ease
Touch mic, MC’s jump like fleas
Playa haters get chopped like trees
A boy rascal to a boy in histories
It seems to be cars and cash and girls and head and manners
On the flames, better keep your eye out for them feds
It seems to be phones and bling and raves and weed
Pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJ’s and MC’s and Gold rings and Nikes
We roll deep for the money, we don’t want no technicalities
It seems to be love and war and hate and life
Harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life
So far from clean, play kiss, chase with your aunt Maureen
Get rhymes, get heard, get seen, Dizzee run tings like Idi Armin
Keep vigilant, keep on guard, we chuck grenades at Scotland Yard
Retard, get kicked hard, real hard
Leave death threats in your birthday card
“O my days what is he like?” Dizzee.com, Dizzee.bust mic
World wide web./east end, Dizzee.com jack your girlfriend
Co.uk at the stopper, Bare-foot Pimp.holler
Frank Frasier .lyrical tank, Dizzee.com/going on stank
It seems to be cars and cash and girls and head and manners
On the flames, better keep your eye out for them feds
It seems to be phones and bling and raves and weed
Pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJ’s and MC’s and Gold rings and Nikes
We roll deep for the money, we don’t want no technicalities
It seems to be love and war and hate and life
Harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life
Ding dong, it's on, fake MC’s wanna sing my song
Wanna test my react? Bring it on
Wanna take me for a mong? Nar, that’s wrong
Hit ‘em with the Jeet Kun Do, like key low blow
Leave bullet holes in the Moschinos clothes
What like where the weed grows, carry condoms for the hoes
Back, front, inside, out, Dizzee got the floor to make a boy white out
Six foot deep, you could never climb out
I smoke the weed till my mum finds out
Front, back, outside, in, bare-foot kids living on ging-seng
Blud make him like doggy-styling, in a dark park where the dark come in
It seems to be cars and cash and girls and head and manners
On the flames, better keep your eye out for them feds
It seems to be phones and bling and raves and weed
Pay up what you owe or else them boys will make you bleed
It seems to be DJ’s and MC’s and Gold rings and Nikes
We roll deep for the money, we don’t want no technicalities
It seems to be love and war and hate and life
Harsh life, hustle life, thug life, street life
The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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