Lyrics Krept & Konan – Champions League
Text:
Konan:
1, 2
Aggression
Yeah
You know my ting already
They ain’t gotta ask me ’cause they know what my pattern is
Big batty girl, she wanna have my kids
My bread’s up, I’ve got a pocket full of sandwiches
In the 7 with the savages
I got something here for any nigga chatting shit
Straight jeans, can the cannon fit?
I won a MOBO once, got the hang of it
Now there’s five in the cabinet
I’m stressed out, I fill the Rizla with some cannabis
Apple juice and a pack of crisps
I just came off a jet, I’ve been travelling
Getting head on the plane, she was talented
Your man ain’t nothing like us, don’t be mad at him
Pool on the roof, I just had a swim
Big man stunting on the Gram like you’re cashing in
Still living with your mum, how embarrassing
Probably why these girls wanna swallow us
I got more money than followers
What you thinking lil idiots is stopping us
My car foreign like some foreigners
Helicopter to the show, fly by traffic
Say you’ve got keys, think you’re like Khaled
Think you’re stunting on me, what, with my balance?
Bro your chain looks light, what’s that? 9 karat?
You can ask Charlie or Semtex
‘Cause this is Champion League shit
You ain’t even in the Prem yet
Thirty bottles in the club, I know, what a waste
Said she got a man but they’re on a break
Man know how I operate
Yeah we rap but me and you are not the same
Krept:
Shout out to the one that said I can’t blow
Now I bet you’re feeling like an arsehole
25th floor in a bathrobe
Fucking hell, we did it nigga, bravo
I told niggas like Fargo
Heard you dropped something, where the chart though?
Drop tops, fast cars oh
Taking off the roof like Pablo
Fuck them niggas, they ain’t real as us
You wanna roll, you ain’t lit enough
My house so high, I’ll bun the wiz
About to rain a minute before the rest of the city does
All these rappers think they’ve got the sauce out
‘Til I drop a new tune, take the sauce back
Why they getting heavy on the ball sack
Let the phone ring, you’ll never get a call back
Man these niggas must be getting sick of me
Me and your babymum got history
Man the hood can’t get rid of me
Still skrr, skrr around Tickle Me
Ain’t buying hoes shit, they ain’t tricking me
You niggas buying, buying like Ribery
Man a hoe couldn’t get a kiss off me
(I heard you had to buy a Tiffany)
Yeah we had a couple setbacks
Went gold, got a fresh plaque
G4 full of niggas on it
That’s what I call jet black
They locked bro, nigga free Atz
Now my nigga tryna get a deep cat
When I was broke, couldn’t relax
Rain or the storms, I was tryna make a G sack
You understand
Play Dirty every fucking time man
