I Ain't Gonna Fold - Wiley

Send anybody, I ain’t gonna fold

All your little dead tactics, them are old

I can see through you, you’re a fake mould

And I can’t chat shit with you, I’m too cold

If anybody try and stop my sound

I will turn London upside down

If I showed you where I came from

You would know surviving here, man can’t be a clown

I am so clued up I might appear mad

That’s the balance of my mum and my dad

You can’t touch me blud I’m not an iPad

No more laptop inna my bag

Drop-top, Range Rover or the Jag

Don’t try talk yourself into me, it’s a blag

And I know

Cos I’m Wiley, star of the show, let’s go

All you man who preach love can’t clash to save your own life

Wanna give talk, but you can’t take talk

If grime was a sport I’d be Johan Cruyff

When I’m switched on active, manna pro, I can tell when I do my practice

I was spraying riddims before when it was rap this

I see your bars in the litter with the cat piss

Blud, if I take seven months out better know when I come back playtime done

London city is the place I run

I got the real loud-pack it’s not a daytime one

Vibe too sick, you gotta rate my one

But they hate my one, then they take my one

Mandem ain’t written all the 16s and the 24s and the likkle grime 8s I’ve done

I’m a killer MC, killer MC

I ain’t in any friendship with a MC

I ain’t in any friendship with a MP

I’m at Wentys getting food, belly empty

Waiting for the money the people have gotta send me

I’m a savage here, they could never end me

I kill 'em softly, I kill 'em gently

I’m winning it cos see they wanna get me

Send anybody, I ain’t gonna fold

All your little dead tactics, them are old

I can see through you, you’re a fake mould

And I can’t chat shit with you, I’m too cold

If anybody try and stop my sound

I will turn London upside down

If I showed you where I came from

You would know surviving here, man can’t be a clown

I am so clued up I might appear mad

That’s the balance of my mum and my dad

You can’t touch me blud I’m not an iPad

No more laptop inna my bag

Drop-top, Range Rover or the Jag

Don’t try talk yourself into me, it’s a blag

And I know

Cos I’m Wiley, star of the show, let’s go

When I took four years out of the grime scene, everybody said I’m done

They rate my one, then they take my one

But before me these MCs they were my sons

I was outside doing late night runs

Four and a half do you know them ones?

Lord of the Mics do you know them ones?

Lewisham High Street cheese and bun

All this trap talk, but he still owes me funds

I was doing and kickback ones

I was doing road and ridgeback ones

I was on the rooftop, I was tryna pinch man’s son

By I ain’t tryna be that one

King of Grime, yeah we already know that one

Quick 24, no I ain’t done

You know what I’m sayin'

Quick war dub to your door, no I ain’t playin'

Take ya back to deja-vu when I’m sprayin'

Money up front, there ain’t no delayin'

I don’t wanna hear what my man’s sold

All I know I don’t bend I don’t fold

Thirty, I don’t war for postcodes

Truth is, I’ve already been cold struggling with an O

No

Send anybody, I ain’t gonna fold

All your little dead tactics, them are old

I can see through you, you’re a fake mould

And I can’t chat shit with you, I’m too cold

If anybody try and stop my sound

I will turn London upside down

If I showed you where I came from

You would know surviving here, man can’t be a clown

I am so clued up I might appear mad

That’s the balance of my mum and my dad

You can’t touch me blud I’m not an iPad

No more laptop inna my bag

Drop-top, Range Rover or the Jag

Don’t try talk yourself into me, it’s a blag

And I know

Cos I’m Wiley, star of the show, let’s go