Champions League

Lyrics

Play
 One, two
 ♪
 Aggression
 ♪
 Yeah
 ♪
 Aggression
 You know my ting already
 They ain't gotta ask me 'cause they know what my pattern is
 Big batty girl, she wanna have my kids
 My bread's up, I've got a pocket full of sandwiches
 In the 7 with the savages
 I got something here for any nigga chatting shit
 Straight jeans, can the cannon fit?
 I won a MOBO once, got the hang of it
 Now there's five in the cabinet
 I'm stressed out, I fill the Rizla with some cannabis
 Apple juice and a pack of crisps
 I just came off a jet, I've been travelling
 Getting head on the plane, she was talented
 Your man ain't nothing like us, don't be mad at him
 Pool on the roof, I just had a swim
 Big man stunting on the Gram like you're cashing in
 Still living with your mum, how embarrassing
 Probably why these girls wanna swallow us
 I got more money than followers
 What you thinking lil idiots is stopping us
 My car foreign like some foreigners
 Helicopter to the show, fly by traffic
 Say you've got keys, think you're like Khaled
 Think you're stunting on me, what, with my balance?
 Bro your chain looks light, what's that? 9 karat?
 Be easy, you know how my friends get
 You can ask Charlie or Semtex
 'Cause this is Champion League shit
 You ain't even in the Prem yet
 Thirty bottles in the club, I know, what a waste
 Said she got a man but they're on a break
 Man know how I operate
 Yeah we rap but me and you are not the same
 Shout out to the one that said I can't blow
 Now I bet you're feeling like an arsehole
 25th floor in a bathrobe
 Fucking hell, we did it nigga, bravo
 I told niggas like Fargo
 Heard you dropped something, where the chart though?
 Drop tops, fast cars oh
 Taking off the roof like Pablo
 Fuck them niggas, they ain't real as us
 You wanna roll, you ain't lit enough
 My house so high, I'll bun the wiz
 About to rain a minute before the rest of the city does
 All these rappers think they've got the sauce out
 'Til I drop a new tune, take the sauce back
 Why they getting heavy on the ball sack
 Let the phone ring, you'll never get a call back
 Man these niggas must be getting sick of me
 Me and your babymum got history
 Man the hood can't get rid of me
 Still skrr, skrr around Tickle Me
 Ain't buying hoes shit, they ain't tricking me
 You niggas buying, buying like Ribery
 Man a hoe couldn't get a kiss off me
 (I heard you had to buy a Tiffany)
 Yeah we had a couple setbacks
 Went gold, got a fresh plaque
 G4 full of niggas on it
 That's what I call jet black
 They locked bro, nigga free Atz
 Now my nigga tryna get a deep cat
 When I was broke, couldn't relax
 Rain or the storms, I was tryna make a G sack
 You understand
 Play Dirty every fucking time man
 

Audio Features

Song Details

Duration
04:32
Key
9
Tempo
90 BPM

Share

More Songs by Krept & Konan

Albums by Krept & Konan

Similar Songs