Ghetts - Fine Wine lyrics

I just hit the belly I just hit the belly I just hit the belly I just hit the belly Rudeboy, I'm the certiest A thank-you ain't enough for my services I was probably an accident, but I know what my purpose is My skin is immaculate, but I've done some dirty tings Tsss Serving it Trap Strap on the lap like a serviette Bang Sammity Sam Circling But, but, fam When them man had the van I was hurdling Fast forward, one foot in the industry door Which way should I go, can't call it, same time they gave thing 24 I wish you could ask Stormin, but I can't give him a ring anymore You see when I feel cornered all I do is think of before I drive back to the house I struggled in (What was that like?) The one bed with a bathroom, the kitchen in the front room My front room had a oven in We was suffering Still loading, just buffering I'm upstairs writing bars and my daughter's colouring Embarrassed Had a bill to pay and my girl had to cover it My guy said I should come on the move All he needs me to do is just cover him But Lamzi got me a job when the Ps weren't coming in Popular guy Delivering pharmaceuticals, I asked God for a sign Nine to five Got me watching the time Somebody asked for a pic And I lost me some pride Started praying again My van never came How's that for a sign I couldn't stay in the end Then I got the hunger back from Deja FM Had to make a boy know he can't play with the pen fu*k making amends I was 21, en route to making a M Where's that guy gone? What's that guy on? Had to remember myself like mum said Where'd you get that vibe from? I went back to the essence It's not only bars, my brudda I'm a man with a message It's much more than slapping and cheffings What about family settings? What about actual blessings? That new-year-new-me talk What about January lessons? The mic is my therapist I'm just having a session Them man there won't tell you this They're capping, I'm shelling They must've thought I had writer's block The way these pricks can write me off Rap, grime or not I'm a pocket finder, I find the spot And me nah worship them and their idol gods So man ah just come through with the Bible co*ked I come here for everything these lot owe me Bro just rolls off the tongue, but he's not homie Things ain't what they seem, please watch closely James, Jordan, Steven, Kobe About Gs not GOATly I manifest things before the secrets show me Had the codes and leaked them slowly Had to show these people grown me Can't talk bad about Ghetts round here That look says "Don't speak on brodie" When you got real ni**as Bill Withers, they'll lean on broski Let' talk about legacy I don't care about nostalgia My best years are ahead of me When I signed to Warner, brudda I was already me Thats fifteen years hard work, no breaks or therapy A cappella on DVDs, no beats, no bass or melodies What the fu*k you telling me? Most my peers in the cemetery Can't do an album, putting out mixtapes Can't do a thousand, whatever they do does terribly Can't do a show, can't do a tour Same lyrics from 2004 And these are the bruddas that you rate heavily Lowe me please Just crown me please Furthermore, I love converting the non-believers So, yeah, go ahead and doubt me, please All they do is talk about drip Ooh, don't drown me, please I've had you here for way to long now Hear the rest of the album please