Open up your bedroom door Let your mum hear this Introduce her to the music, yeah (Dem way there, I wear my own garms) (Man see me on road, and want arms) (Tell them shut your mout', there's no qualms) (Tell them shut your mout', there's no qualms) Tell them shut your mouth, you're not bad No, you can't son me, never ever lost in a clash, you're mad Try diss me or my family tree, alright, we could go dad for a dad (Oi, Skepta, why you murkin' so many MC's?) 'Cause they don't know about greaze I was really in the field with the G's We were testin' out waps on trees My first wap came in a boxing glove Got my second one for some weed and P's Why lie? Tell me the reason, please That ain't gon' impress me 'cause (Real recognise real recognise real recognise real recognise real, I'm so real) They recognise me in Winchmore Hill Primrose Hill, Brixton Hill You're not a bad boy, and I'ma die on that hill But the showerman recognise me 'cause (Real recognise real recognise real recognise real recognise real, I'm so real) They recognise me on wave and trap They recognise me on grime and drill You're not a bad boy, and I'ma die on that hill Allow it, man I wanna get my bars out, man Nah, I wanna get my bars out, please, no more wheel-ups, man Please, man Young SK, I was goin' insane To go radio I had to walk in the rain Tell me what you know about surfin' the train? No logical thinkin', had stress on the brain One time I had to murk eight MC's Bettin' me money, they won't test me again Before I did 'fit pic's, I been a lyricist Had to make 'em put some respect on my name (Like, oi, Skepta, why you murkin' so many MC's?) That was the word on the curb I don't bend, so how can I get curved? Private jet, I was flyin' with your bird Every other lyric you're talkin' about gun man You ain't got straps, stop lyin', you're a nerd Said you was a bad boy, blud, say word I went to your ends, that's not what I heard (Dem way there, I wear my own garms) (Man see me on road, and want arms) I still gotta step on my 1's, I'm so calm You talkin' like you know the drillers, you're not Carns (Tell them shut your mout', there's no qualms) (Tell them shut your mout', there's no qualms) Talkin' 'bout crashin' out, you're not Swarmz Real recognise real, dem boy do me no harm (The nurse that brought me) (Will recognise me when I'm forty, like, I'm so real) From Australia, all the way to Brazil, I got fans sayin' I'm the G.O.A.T. still Don't come to my show if you're tryna be cool and chill Your drink might spill, end up in the moshpit, hands in your grill Flow so sick, you might need a NyQuil (Real recognise real recognise real recognise real recognise real, I'm so real) They recognise me in Winchmore Hill Primrose Hill, Brixton Hill You're not a bad boy, and I'ma die on that hill But the showerman recognise me 'cause (Real recognise real recognise real recognise real recognise real, I'm so real) They recognise me on wave and trap They recognise me on grime and drill Go on then Go on then, go on then No more