Seems 2 Be

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 u never set.

Silence silence silence dat

Stop that start that get that. Yo you know

Going on dirty going on stank. Yo

Roll deep on these, put these MC's on deep freeze,

Hit these Whitney's and rip these, Come 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) heads,

And manners on the flames better keep your eye out for them feds

It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed (and)

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 out real hard, leave death threats in your birthday card.

Oh my days what is he like? Dizzee dot com Dizzee dot bust mic

World wide web dot slash east end, Dizzee dot com jack your girlfriend!

Co dot uk at the stopper, Bare-foot Pimp backslash dot holler

Frank Frasier dot lyrical tank, Dizzee dot com slash going on stank

It seems to be cars, (and) cash (and) girls (and) heads,

And manners on the flames better keep your eye out for them feds

It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed (and)

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, its on, fake MC's wanna sing my song

Wanna test hurry up 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

Hot 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

Love makin? nah doggy-styling, in a dark park where the dark come in.

It seems to be cars, (and) cash (and) girls (and) heads,

And manners on the flames better keep your eye out for them feds

It seems to be phones (and) bling (and) raves (and) weed (and)

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!

I have the feeling that you love me