Wiley - West London Lyrics

feat. Big Zuu, K9, GHSTLY XXVII & Direman

B-I, B-I
Flames on the riddim, big chef when I step through
I’ll need to wet youts
Collect the bag when they check Zuu (Brap)
Them man lack but I rhyme with the best moves (Ah)
B-I-G, manna big inna di West (B-I, B-I)
Speak with my chest
See, the whole game got finessed
Likkle bwoys try snitch to the ref (What?)
Man I moved forward, and bruddas got left
What they know about levs? (Uh)
Fat boy, man, you know I get the belly on the regs’ (Trust)
They don’t wanna war ’cause their niggas will dessert them
Them bruddas only got jelly in their legs
Prezi when I flex, who’s heavy on the set?
Young G been a vet, now they’re paying me respects (Uh)
Way too alive, never saying that I’m dead
Bars weak on the mind
Been spraying with the deaf
They don’t want me to blow
Now I’m paying for my breath

Fuck these folk
Man, I’m old school like Nutz n Boltz
Smell man stinkin’, it must be cro
Roll to the set in my cruddiest clothes
And regurgitate all my gulliest flows (9)
Any wasteman try get in my face (9)
Lay man straight like a scaffolding pole
Man I’m on a next ting I ain’t battling bro
9 lyrical pro
Boxing MCs like my name was Joe (Ah)
I was so sick but they didn’t wanna care
And they didn’t wanna know
Left them brehs with a limited role
Anywhere I roll my niggas gotta go
Man want features? Hit ’em with a no
Man want beef? Just fill ’em up with holes
Kill ’em with the flow (9)

Swear to God, I murk MCs
Even though I don’t wanna hurt MCs
I was born with the spirit, blud, I’m not a gimmick, blud
Rude boy, I will Lil Durk MCs
Nobody can’t spray up anywhere when I’m ‘ere
Man better sit in their chairs when I’m ‘ere
All these MCs living in London
I’m the only one who don’t care when I’m ‘ere
Yo, man try skipping on man, I break skips
Man try wearing the crown, I take wigs
And I throw ’em in the river, stone cold killer
Don’t care about fame on the road, I’m bigger
It’s long for a spitter
Make a man tap, he’s a quitter
Man can’t front like he’s bigger
I’ll rip his head off, whole crew dead off
Pack up my tools in the box and I get off

Who’s that? What’s that? That’s GHS
GHS, I’m a top man
Pull up on a block with a sweet one, no gang
Mi nah business block mi nah drop top fam
Manna hot boy, I don’t wanna haffi hot man
But I’m stacking up man like Jean Van Damme
Pop off the ting like fizzy drink can
Man I pop off the ting like fizzy drink, fizzy drink
Who’s that? GHS, GHS
Papa grande, GHS, GHS
Whole heap ah style, that’s GHS, GHS
I’m inna dancehall, GHS, GHS
Foundation badness, GHS, GHS
The gyaldem ah love GHS, GHS
Bandoleiro, GHS, GHS
How many times that’s, that’s

I’m here to be heard, that’s a pun already
Competition done already
Man know me, I’m heavyweight
Four bars, that’s a ton already
Let me give them a couple more
I done told them a million times
I’m rich with rhymes, these MCs are fucking poor
Push me, I’m swinging like double doors
Got ’em shook like Brexit
You man got something to say?
Ring man, don’t text it
I’m not into the watching ting
I ain’t got no account on Netflix
In this grime ting, I move like Messi
Scientific, I’m simply effective

West London Lyrics
Album "The Godfather 3" ()

Wiley lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. "West London" lyrics provided for educational purposes and personal use only.