Aitch's latest track dives deep into the high life and the challenges that come with it. He's flexing hard, talking about his lavish lifestyle—expensive cars, luxury homes, and jet-setting trips. But it's not just about the glitz; he also touches on his roots and how far he's come from his humble beginnings in Manchester. Aitch isn't shy about addressing haters and competition, making it clear he's here to stay. He even throws in some cheeky lines about romantic escapades and personal reflections on fame. It's a mix of swagger, reflection, and a bit of humor that shows off his unique style. #HighLife #FromTheStreets #FlexingHard #ManchesterPride
GSD
Lyrics
(Whyjay)
Yo, slimed out the SVR, it look like Hulk or something
Spend this money to live comfortably, I don't stunt for nothin'
Culli' cost a quarter, couldn't insure it, 'cause I'm young and bussin'
Keys for all the cribs, but for the Urus I just push a button
Little pussy said he'd look for me, he must be bluffin'
Me, I'm from the M, a couple cuttings and some guns are bussin'
Half a ticket for a crib I don't live in, I just come to fuck in
Double for my mumsy's, hundred thousand, boy, that's under budget
In Newton Heath a couple zeds, we 'bout to hit the M-way
Took the roof up off the Bentley 'cause I need some headspace
But fuck a coupe unless it's Keed, see, me I fuck with Bentaygs
Forty-thousand feet up on the jet plane, I can't hear what them say (hahaha)
(Still bree-) Still breezing through on Moston Lane
Rollie cost a box of 'caine, me and you are not the same
Yeah, need that Presi' with the chocolate face
Never had no enemies, hit fame, now I got opps for days
Yeah, no talking, I'm like Stormzy's mate
Stalking when she saw the cake
Rollie cost a quarter Wraith
Yeah, walk with me through all the pain
Pull up, blowing ganja, screaming, "Sorry if I'm sorta late"
Get the bag put half away and then we go again
Tell a rapper, "Test me, you won't have a show again"
Woke up feeling kosher, hit the roads and go and blow a ten
These pussies think they're G.O.A.T.s, I'll give 'em hope if I go ghost again
(Aitch, tu me manques)
(Quand est-ce que tu reviens me voir a Paris?)
Yeah, hit the thickest chick in Paris, singing Digga's adlibs
Had her coming, screaming (woi), I went and did a madness
Put the pussy on repeat, I think that thing attractive
When I'm done pushing on her cheeks, I tell her fling it backwards
Put the footage on a screen, I think it's fucking cinematic
And she suck it like she mean it, this one been a savage
Them likkle rubbers ain't convenient, need a bigger jacket
But honestly, the pussy so sweet I didn't think the wrap it, huh
Driveway look like a runway
Doors on the spaceship come electric like the front gate
Splash on what I need to keep my family from the streets
So I got cameras in the trees and couple ketwigs on some gunplay (grrrt)
I heard your tune, it's all white noise
Youngest in charge 'cause every move I make is my choice
But still I ask myself the same questions every night
Is my music gonna bang and does Snoochie like white boys?
'Bout my business, I never been one for clout
Stayed on top for four years, I ain't ever been on a drought
Made some money off my music, invested to spread it out
Couldn't give a fuck who you think the best is, I'm getting pounds
Writer(s): Harrison James Armstrong, Jacob Daniel Jones, Kamal Folami, Taras Slusarenko
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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