Dizzee Rascal › Lyrics › Where's Da G's

Dirty stank, yeah man
I know that you think you’re foolin’
But you ain’t foolin’ me, man
I don’t give a s*** man, I’m out here man
Wherever you want man
Sweat or f*****’ blood, 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 threatenin’ situations yet
You're no dealer, you're not ballin’
You just get yourself in debt

You're a fan of hip hop, wankin’
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 your 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 drawin’ for no metal

I know them rap songs got you thinkin’
You're some kind of G
Well if that's the case, then que sera
And what will be will be, boy

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 moots on the TV
How many real crooks on the TV?
All I hear is dead hooks on the TV
Bein’ 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
Bein’ real these days ain't easy

Well it's big Bun B and I'm back again
Talkin’ that s*** on the track again
Too many m************ be lyin’ about
Sellin’, buyin’ and traffickin’

I'm like, really though what's happenin’
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 stackin’ 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 m************ is scared of you
And if somebody tryin’ to take your s***
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 b****-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 f*** 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 moots on the TV
How many real crooks on the TV?
All I hear is dead hooks on the TV
Bein’ 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
Bein’ 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, b****, where the track?
Where the diamonds and where the Lac
You say that you in hot pursuit
But I ain't never seen you with a prostitute

I got everythin’ I say
Don't believe me, ask Lil' J
On the West ask Ice-T
F*** good but my dick ain't free

So hood, I used to whip the D
Patron and wood when I’m in the B
Sweet Jones, Tony Snow, Percy Mack, Pimp C
B****, I got a bunch of names

Gettin’ head in the H.O.V. lane
Gettin’ 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 carrots in my chain
Jumpin’ out a red-candy thin’

Never snitch, never tell
Get caught up, go back to jail
Before I tell them hoes s***
F*** 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 tryin’ to act tough
When they was up there gettin’ f***** 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 moots on the TV
How many real crooks on the TV?
All I hear is dead hooks on the TV
Bein’ 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
Bein’ real these days ain't easy