text: Street Politics Lyrics
  Sykes, Sykes
  You know, you know
  Nastylgia
  Yo
  Feds blew off my door for a mad ting, sad ting, talk about tem supply 
  Have you ever sat down in a courtroom, lookin at life, see your Marj aint cry? Ayy
  Me, I spent time on basic, phonin bro, tryna keep my head high 
  I said Bug dont listen enough, he just wanna slide an let corn fly 
  How many times do we go there, do it? Thing in the ride tryna make em go through it 
  Them man had their chance but blew it, knew it, wouldve hurt more if you threw it 
  New smoke, bro, lets go through it
  It couldve been an M, the ting never jammed 
  Ride-outs aint planned, then Bug still pay, now opps get blammed
  My bro been in jail for ten year straight
  He still kept the link 
  Alarm bells on Felltham, 9AM, its a early shift 
  Spontaneous glides
  Didnt catch an M but we nearly did 
  They see its lit 
  It really coulda been a 30 wreck 
  Concrete jungle
  Us young niggas earnt respect 
  Stepped on opps, now my stylist scheme down my turtleneck 
  My young boy went and burnt an opp
  Came to the block then he burnt that ped 
  But he put too much petty
  I swear he nearly burnt down the rec
  Nokia, E, that was O foureen
  How all now I got sauna steam?
  Back then, man done it with a sawn-off one, now main opps see us with a G17 
  Tryna stay clean, but Im playing a dirty game 
  Fore Ive been bounced for raisins, that was on a dirty caine 
  Bust my kettle and chain
  Grown, now I might cop me a Plain Jane
  VS1 cant hide this pain
  Hit up, a same way 
  Make sure your boots are laced 
  Dont step if it aint for K 
  One pop, well put it on a spray, now Im checking the news all day 
  Yo, dont slip when Im outside tacking
  Thing on my hip, of course Im not lacking 
  Yeah, the other side bruck, theyre slacking
  Real bad men, I forev be stacking, ayy
  Come a long way from trappin
  Now Im in the studio, full time rapping 
  If she aint ten I aint tapping
  Slow down miss, why you always love snapping? 
   had to hop that trade, now its up in OT flying packs, no plane, plane
  Gas said Im way too veng, got hunnids on me, throw bands, let it rain 
  D-tup, still pop champagne when court get buss, its us they blame 
  Pedal bike gliding, on the other side watch them toolies sayin 
  Old Bailey, eight weeks, I reminisce occasionally 
  Im feeling like the CPS hate me, luckily I know that my brownsters facety 
  One of these feds wanna cage me , breakfast pack on Aring 
  Well hit the strip, serving out the 80s, intent to supply, now we serve re-pastries
  Yo, pastries, baguettes 
  Water, riolettes 
  Six peds got me this country flat on let
  German dingers
  Gang got step correct 
  No connect four, wanna call for the fourth connects 
  Came out of jail an abused that microwave and fork 
  Go to war, two different fours
  We can go long or short 
  Dot-dot go Boom-bow
  Loud like the 6.3 exhaust 
  Load that matic, do it gently, better not stuff that corn 
  How much waps been bought? 
  Round that up, coulda went a jewlers 
  Fifth corns enormous, beat it, hes defo falling 
  All year I just gave out orders, like Go there with a four in the corner
  Work that boy in front of his bredrins, now they got deal with trauma Embed