Co-sign

It's show-, it's-it's showtime
I don't need a sponsor or a co-sign
I ain't got to say my name, you know mine
I don't borrow bars, I got my own lines, and my own rhymes, but you can hold mine
But you ain't going to act like I'm an old timer in decline since '09
You ain't going to treat me like I owe grime

Whilst crying, saying, "You miss the old grime"
1999, you didn't know grime
I was making grime and getting no shine
Everybody said they stand on business, 'til they run their mouth and get a clothes line
Budgets getting cut, labels shutting down all the black stuff like the coal mines
And that's a cold line for you slow minds

Either you're with me or against me
Either you love me or resent me
Is it a Rolls, is it a Bentley?
Why am I shallow and so empty?
I don't need the P, I got plenty
But if you give me the P, it might tempt me
You can't make this up, this ain't Fenty
You can't make this up, this ain't make believe

I don't over do it, I just overachieve, and you better believe
I took UK music overseas in '03
Oh please, it ain't complex
I don't need complex to put it in context
I'm one, two, three, four, five, and six
Better wash your mouth and dirty lips
I'm the god-damn reason you can even sit

All gassed up like that, talking shit
And you could have quit or at least admit
I was out here working, doing bits
Had a hold of the UK throwing fits
I got MOBOs, Ivor, Mercury, and a BRIT
Got a BET, and that ain't even it
Got a bunch of plaques and a bunch of hits

And I put us on main stage
We ain't even on the same page
We ain't the same age
I don't really wanna engage
Or do they really want to see me get enraged?
Why you care so much what the States think?
I only care what the estates think
I was creeping on ends with bait links

And ends ain't ever been the same since
And the game stinks 'cause you get excited about mediocre stuff
Maybe it's because you ain't old enough
Maybe you should listen to some older stuff
Maybe I'm just getting old and over stuff
Plus-plus-plus, I'm old enough
To remember, radio picked them man there over us

Not trying to blow my own trumpet
Not one bit, I'd rather beat my own drum kit
That's the fun bit, plus I made the beat
I don't run my mouth, I just run shit
I ain't losing sleep over dumb shit
Or argue with pricks who never done shit
I'm so far ahead before they even started, I was done with it

Let's face the facts, let's forget the stats, let's forget the plaques
Let's forget the tape packs with Wiley Kat, Raskit, back to back
If I ain't the Godfather, I must be God
There's nothing wrong with that
If you say I'm not, then you can keep your God
What kind of God is that?
You can't polish crap, but you can thank God for putting us on the map

And that's big chat
Call it blasphemy, but don't call it cap
Done a lot for grime, I done a lot for rap
I'm a happy chap, not a fanny flap
I'll spark a man before I hold a slap
Back to Wiley Kat, I take off my hat
From the council flats
When you bless the scene, you can't cancel that
But when you over-chat, they overreact
Now let me shut my trap

Yeah, right
My bars are hard and they're tight
I ain't hating, I just don't see the hype
I'm like Stevie Wonder trying to ride a bike
I'm like Stevie Wonder trying to fly a kite on a cloudy night
No, I'm really like black dynamite, playing Iron Mic
We're the same blood type, but ain't alike

Now, get it right
They call me Pane
They call me Pane, Pane, Pane