30 Groove St. (Feat. Jordan Stephens)

'Bout to hit the theme park
I pop-pa down Grove Street in a green car
Smoking tree bark
'Bout to hit the theme park
I pop-pa down Grove Street in a green car
Smoking tree bark
'Bout to hit the theme park
I pop-pa down Grove Street in a green car
Smoking tree bark
'Bout to hit the theme park
I pop-pa down Grove Street in a green car
Smoking tree bark
Nightmare's on wax
What we saying? What we saying, man?
Aight
Smoking his delights
What am I saying, man?
Check it, yo

I'm writing lyrics on my dog walk
Nowadays, I'm not bored, I stay on course
I used to wanna ride waves 'til I'm on shore
But now that ship's sailed, where's the foghorn?
But now that plane's flown, where's the Concorde?
Told myself I want more, where's my encore?
Shut the front door 'cause bad vibes, don't wanna come forth
Kill core beliefs, I'm subpar, I'm fucking top drawer (Yeah)
I'm top drawer like old keys, phone wires and some locks forced
Pry themselves open like the way I drop jaws when I'm on tour
While you sit at home to watch porn, eating popcorn (Haha, haha)
May you excuse me while I fuck around with rhymes
Most the time, I'm writing longform, I'll never conform
Haters wanna see me contoured by the bong norm
Bass speaker, God yawns (Yeah, yeah)
Brother, yeehaw, horsepower down Grove Street in a green car
Smoking tree bark, 'bout to hit the theme park
Afro-surrealist bars for your sweetheart
I got this DMT, star, let me reach past
I used to want a dream car, so I dream large
Now I dream long, 'bout to hit the theme park
Afro-surrealist bars for your sweetheart
I got this DMT, star, let me reach past
I used to want a dream car, so I dream large
Now I dream long, now I dream far
I'm like Cheech and Chong, bro, I need grass
Yeah, I need grass, touch it in the park quick
No more doom, flowers blooming in the Arctic
Play a few tunes, bass booms from the guitar pick
We're hanging on by a string, but who's fretting?
Bruv, I'm two-stepping
I ain't tryna chat to you, cretin (What?)
I'm prepping for my interview with Heaven
I'm the giver of light, man, I'm life path eleven
Yeah, deep audited, bruv
What we saying anyway, man?
Check it

Racism ain't winning
I'm a mixed-race kid from Great Britain, I stay driven
Got the plates spinning, but stay with it
Hey, kid, if thirty-three's young
Then my soul makes up an age difference
I say lyrics and break limits, my brain's wicked
From an age of crate diggers and break spitters of great lyrics
Wanna play cricket? I ain't slipping, I play sixes
Leave you bowled over and stumped, I take wickets
I take wickets, man, what's more British than that?
Come on
I see you in Ibiza, bro