(I'm a West Yorks charva
And I grew up with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer)
And when the beef kicks off I've got boys stood militant
Dotty at his side with a bally on his head like a hat
And if it gets pulled down then your boy's getting sacked
One click get a hole in your back
Boom bam, plated up cars and the rammers
Feds tryna scran us, DS tryna ram us
Few box rays then we're rolling with the hammers
But we don't use blade 'cause only pussies use stabbers
Real life facts not blaggers
Had a few grafts went wrong, went madders
But now I'm into music climbing up these ladders
Bars and flows on point like a dagger
Known on the Tube as a rapper
Known in the ends as a trapper
Loyal kid, not a backstabber
And I don't tell lies, fucked graft two times
But I pay my way, I don't duck decks
I pay it and I keep that respect
'Cause you don't know what's gonna happen next
Boys at your yard or you're banged in your cell with your Tec
I'm a West Yorks charva
And I grew up with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer
I'm a West Yorks charva
And I do it with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer
I heard your main bitch loves that image
Napa all over the jacket and I'm rolling the spinach
Born in Gipton, you see me?
We took a chase on Oakwood lane but we lost 'em at Jimmies
No prints 'cause the gloves I had on
We're the same as Tiger Woods but I'm not golf club swinging
I swear it didn't look right
My boy sent it back, it didn't cook right
But that's what happens when you push white
I saw my cousin lick 50 off a good line
And leave the game like "Goodbye,"
But we might fuck the game with the bud line
(I'm a West Yorks charva
And I grew up with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer
I'm a West Yorks charva
And I grew up with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer)
Down the M62, dipping in and out of lanes
Me and big P tryna get this change
Making a rave while making a statement
Tryna get paid, blatant
I don't wanna hit the wing, put back on basic
'Cause jail's not nice, let's face it
It's part of your life if you make it
Starts getting hard when you're faking
But losing your freedom ain't rated
And I'm breaking these packs
While saving these stacks
While writing these tracks, I'mma make it
I was born in Bradford, raised in a town in Wakey
Leeds night out so I get a bit wavey
Head's in the clouds so I feel a bit spacey
Belling up my Huddersfield fam when I'm needing the bangers and the mash
It's gravy and Pike's trigger-happy so your street get blazey
And my nigga F.K. still packing that hazey
You don't get paid if you're lifestyle's lazy
Said you don't get paid if you're lifestyle's lazy
I'm a West Yorks charva
And I grew up with my West Yorks charvas
You chat about your graft but my phone rings harder
Pulling down crops like a licenced farmer