Where's Da G's - Dizzee Rascal

Dirtee Stank!

Yeah, man

Know you really fink you’re fooling, man

You ain’t fooling me, man

I don’t give a shit, man

I’m out here, man

Wherever you want, man (Wherever the fuck you want)

Swear to fucking God, man

Liar liar, pants on fire, you’re not gangsta, you’re not street

You just make yourself sound gangsta when you’re rappin on the beat

You ain’t got yourself in no life-threatening situations yet

You’re no dealer, you’re not balling, you just get yourself in debt

You’re a fan of hip-hop, wanking when you hear them rappers talk

Love to sit and listen, but we know that you don’t walk the walk

What’s with all the fake aggression?

I can see that it’s not true

I know killers, I know gangsters, and they never heard of you

You ain’t robbed nobody, shanked nobody, you ain’t bust no gun

You ain’t seen no ghetto action, who do you think you foolin, son?

You should pull ya trousers up, you know it ain’t your type of look

You’re no playa, you’re no pimp, I think that you should read a book

And seckle, find yourself a pretty girl and settle

You know that if it’s on that you ain’t drawing for no metal

I know them rap songs got you thinking you’re some kind of G

Well, if that’s the case, then que sera and what will be will be

Where’s the G’s?

Where’s the stars?

Where’s the whips?

Where’s the cars?

Where’s that cribs?

And where’s the yards?

'Cause all I see is hype

Where’s the dough?

Where’s the cash?

Where’s the hoes?

Where’s the gash?

Where’s the blicks?

And where’s the mash?

'Cause all I see is hype

Too many mooks on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I hear is dead hooks on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy

Too many moots on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I see is bare poop on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy

Well it’s big Bun B and I’m back again

Talking that shit on the track again

Too many motherfuckers be lying

About selling, buying and trafficking

I’m like really though what’s happening

You boys talk about that crack again?

Cause we don’t believe you, need more people

Y’all might as well just pack it in

Show me the paper you’re stacking in

Show me the blocks you got on hold

Show me your workers, show me your shooters

Lemme see the neighborhood you control

Lemme see if you a boss, and if motherfuckers is scared of you

And if somebody trying to take your shit

Let me see what you prepared to do

Are you ready to go to war?

Are you ready to shoot to kill?

Are you really gon' man-up or bitch-up?

Just tell the truth for real

Are you ready to take a life?

Walk up to 'em and squeeze the trigger?

I don’t think so 'cause you ain’t built like that

So just be easy, nigga

'Cause you know you ain’t 'bout no drama

And you know that you really don’t want it

So stay the fuck out of the way when them trill-ass niggas is on it

Dizzee Ras and UGK, you know we stay connected

Trill recognize trill, so just respect it and check it

And tell me

Where’s the G’s?

Where’s the stars?

Where’s the whips?

Where’s the cars?

Where’s that cribs?

And where’s the yards?

'Cause all I see is hype

Where’s the dough?

Where’s the cash?

Where’s the hoes?

Where’s the gash?

Where’s the blicks?

And where’s the mash?

'Cause all I see is hype

Too many mooks on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I hear is dead hooks on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy

Too many moots on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I see is bare poop on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy

Where the Benz and where the hoes?

Candy niggas with candy clothes

Where the cocaine?

Where the o’s?

Where the SoundScan, where the shows?

You’s a pimp, bitch, where the track?

Where the diamonds and where the Lac

You say that you that you in hot pursuit

But I ain’t never seen you with a prostitute

I got everything I say

Don’t believe me, ask Lil' J

On the West, ask Ice-T

Fuck good but my dick ain’t free

So hood I used to whip the d

Patron and wood when im in the B

Sweet Jones, Tony Snow, Percy Mack, Pimp C

Bitch, I got a bunch of names

Getting head in the H.O.V.

lane

Getting red, I let my nuts hang

Wear a lot of red but it ain’t no gang

Chased by the feds but it ain’t no thang

I guess they think I still sell cocaine

92 karats in my chain

Jumping out a red-candy thing

Never snitch, never tell

Get caught up, go back to jail

Before I tell them hoes shit

Fuck the law, they can eat my dick

The main niggas that pop the trunk

Go to the pen and get with them punks

Then come home trying to act tough

When they was up there getting fucked in the butt

Where’s the G’s?

Where’s the stars?

Where’s the whips?

Where’s the cars?

Where’s that cribs?

And where’s the yards?

'Cause all I see is hype

Where’s the dough?

Where’s the cash?

Where’s the hoes?

Where’s the gash?

Where’s the blicks?

And where’s the mash?

'Cause all I see is hype

Too many mooks on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I hear is dead hooks on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy

Too many moots on the TV

How many real crooks on the TV?

All I see is bare poop on the TV

Being real these days ain’t easy