[Verse 1: Wiley]
Shhh... it's Eskiboy
I been k**ing sound boys on the regular
Me and my crew speak raw on the regular
Tell 'em where I'm from, let 'em know I'm a regular
These three kids make money on the regular
I make tunes sell records on the regular
Boy you know I don't have it on the regular
Flex supersize I blaze on the regular
Practice on the radio on the regular
Joe Pesci boy I war on the regs
Some of them hatched last week from the eggs
Imma come through and slew them on the regs
Used to make toy guns right from the pegs and a bit of wood
I'm on the estate on the regs
Playing marbles in the playground on the regs
Took everybody's marbles on the regs
Did you see that black T-Spark on the regs?
[Hook]
Fame
Fame makes a grown man change from the change into black tie arranging the game and
Money
Money makes the world go round
Ain't it funny how the girls go down when they see a bit of
Fame
Fame makes a grown man change from the change into black tie arranging the game and
Money
Money makes the world go round
Ain't it funny how the girls go down when they see a bit of a
Fame!
Fame'll make a grown man change but
Money!
Money makes the world go round blud
Fame!
Fame'll make a grown man change while
Money!
Money makes the world go round blud
[Verse 2: Skinnyman]
Dope ting, high manner on a broke ting
Still high hoping, high grade smoking
But we don't get to see no doors open
You don't want to see the way that I'm coping
Smashing everything that I've been clashing
In it with a pa**ion, ready for the action, mashing
Mandem on the bandwagon, little follow fashion, thinking that they're splashing
Counting them off: 5, 6, 7, 8 - Skinnyman hitting them hard just like a heavyweight
You're not ready mate, 'cos my lyrics gonna penetrate to elevate the youths on the council estate and
Mad fam is the name brand
With a dark art little Dapper Dan is the main man
They're all stunted and they're in it for the fame and the money but they don't know this ain't a game man
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Wunda]
Open your eyes and see, you can't shoot a bredda up on the mic like me
From your nose to your bun, cheech a guy like me but you're gonna know the sky like me
You'll see it's me - aka K.I.D. - never roll when you're running with a fake ID
If you roll to the manor then you may find me in the yard with a zoot from the bare tight weed
So - stay keen to the gangsta theme, I step out the whip walking, the gangsta lean
You get ch-ch (gunshot) banging at your gangster spleen that's how they separate the men from the gangstas, seen?
Turning in the gangsta dream and these hoes they know how to keep a gangsta keen
Thanks to me they now s** a trampoline
I run them chicken like a tambourine, they don't know