Pirate - Devlin, Syer B

This tune reminds me of the pirate sets

Dev’s inside, what’s good?

Mic-check

That mic looks battered

Have to hold the wire up anyway

1−1-1, check, Devlin in the building

Just landed inside

Big up the phone line massive

Texting crew, you know what time it is

Listen

This tune reminds me of the pirate sets

Dev’s inside, what’s good?

Mic-check

Big-up the listenin' crew locked in

Technical problems sorted it’s bless

Lets swing like fighters in rings

All live on this thing I thrive on a test

Came up in a fight with the best

Stay locked, nah I spit more fire than the rest

Sun-Tzu puttin' the art in war

Some bouncer-like fellas on a party door

Don’t grab the mic, you ain’t spitting no more

And get a job going if you setting that

Back to back, we ran bar-for-bar

The flow must be cold, when its time to spar

I ain’t know no rogues when I’m firing arms

Pirate, but there’s no hook, just bars

DJ in the mix

We’re going to be taking you through for awhile

It’s that time

Big up everyone locked in around town

Hold tight Lewi White

Check, check

Who am I crafting a battleground, under the blackest cloud

Where weren’t no backin' down

I’m rain with the ragged sound

You think, lets have it now

You ain’t seen it, trash piling up

Soon buzz, management’s after subs

So fuck, best dive or duck

I ain’t got a ticket for the train, no

Jump barriers, too close to the game I got married to

Will do my apprenticeship, and then bus

‘Til then I ain’t bringing this mic too close to my lips

‘Cause it’s covered in rust

From a Premier set-up

Went well wild when he started the web up

But now you drop one tune

And it might be a star, who’s next comin' up

Yeah, yeah, big up Syer B

Just walked in the place

Oi bruv, you can come and take over

I need to get a drink anyway

Show ‘em what time it is mate

Tell ‘em what, tell ‘em what, tell 'em what

What, what

Original spitter

This one’s for the oldscool listener

Give me a sign if it’s crystal

Rudeboys in the lift-shaft, setting up the transmitter

Got two decks and a mixer, a bag full of dubs

Some fucked up bars, a mag, a ten-bag

And Rizla

And there’s weed in the lungs

I done Radio-sets with the realest ones

Station set in the vacant drums

High-rises and the deepest songs

So give me ten missed-calls if you feel this one

Twenty missed-calls and I will this one

I rep where I’m from every time I go on, shout out to my crew locked on

My bruv, the phone line’s been pumpin'

They want the reload

They ain’t havin' it though

Tryna squeeze in them bars

Out to all those silent listeners

Out to everyone recordin'

Wheel up, nah I don’t need it, keep it

Let ‘em take me in back here

breathin' the heater’s broken

And there ain’t no central heating

It’s freezin', I see my breath

It just adds to the vibe I guess

Then I get more drive, more meanin'

I was raised to be first not last

When I’m takin' part, and it might get heated

To the degree that I see fit

Get back on my Rinse: 1003 shit

One more time so they’re seeing Flipz

And old-school fire’s being lit

Like someone just got me

Pass me a bag and I’ll finish’em properly

Go hard or go yard

I heard that said then and I weren’t killin' ‘em softly

You know what were gone, were out of here

Out to everyone who was tuned in

Same time next week

Big up the DJ up next

Big up the MC’s up next… peace