Swindle ft. Knucks, Ghetts, Akala and Kojey Radical - Blow Ya Trumpet

Official audio for Blow Ya Trumpet produced by South London native Swindle featuring Knucks, Ghetts, Akala and Kojey Radical. This is a work or art, a masterpiece and a calling card. The line up of four of the best MCs in the UK is appealing, even virtually bringing Akala out of retirement is a touch.

The new album The New World is out October 29th, pre-order and pre-save now: https://swindle.lnk.to/thenewworldID

Lyrics:

Verse: (Knucks)
They say no man is an island
But I left island
Had to do my ting
If I sense any sign in ya eye that ya trifflin
It’s bye no fussing or fighting
Seen all they drops the same already
Seen the bussdowns n chains already
Save ya drip made it rain already
Pissed off cos my cup couldn’t take more Henny
Let’s discuss it
Wanna tell lies to the public
Cool, if you like it I love it
But true I’m that guy in the function
Spit fire n leave shit alight like a bunsen
Burner
Manna grill beef, you don’t want this burger
Money filthy, a disgusting earner
Word up
That’s ya luck it’s gone further
Do a man like klashnekoff,
It’s murder

Getting doe on the front end
Can’t take man for a prick no thorn
I don’t need no horns I blow my own trumpet
Thank road for the funding
Only bro knows how it’s rolled into hundreds
Lizzy gone rogue pink notes in abundance
Did all my bicep curls n my lunges
True say you ain’t ya self when ya hungreh

Verse: (Ghetts)
Coldest
I don’t how you ain’t noticed
Without Ghetts, there ain’t no list
Your new shit’s like my old shit
Your old shit was just so shit
Hold it
Who wants smoke, I’ll roll it
Who wants rope, I’ll hold it
Let’s play hangman
How do I know you ain’t got no heart?
X-ray and scan
Them man haven’t been transparent
But I know the minerals they’ve got missing
Indirect often, indirect just bare subliminals they’ve got written
I don’t wanna play fill in the blanks
I’d rather play fill up the bank
Easy think of a plan
Meet me, pick up a shank.
BP fill up the tank

I was in the cold no comfort,
Grade 8s in music that’s why I can blow my own trumpet
I got news for the public,
I got views for the pundits
I’m a sell out. I ain’t got room for a hundred
I can only look down on people who gossip
I stay 22 rumours above them
Fuck them!

Verse: (Akala)
When the beat it just drops
And you screwing your face
And you’re blowing your top
A shot no fighter can block
A weight nobody could spot
Beats we are burning ’em
London to Birmingham
Course you’d have heard of ’em
Fellers are shellers
We’re perming them, permanent
Jump on this plane, but just mind for the turbulence
Plane we observing on
So far above that it gets kinda burdensome
They are not ready for shell that we’re serving them
Food for your thought
Now come swallow a murdering
Gurgling,
on your own blood, and it’s curdling
Your stomach is weaker than Worzel is
My word on it, I’m earning it
The scriptures I speak, they’re just learning it
Street shit. And deep shit
Like ancient Egypt and 3 clips
Like read this and take in your teachers
If he flips then break face of idiots
He’s quick to make pace coz he’s sick
And these pricks, they gave chase
But he slips
Not a day in your life
I tell you these grips,
Blud, they grip on the track better than V6

And when I’ve written a rap
I tell you these dicks
They couldn’t buss if they gave em three chicks
A whole load of crumpet
No bro you don’t blow ya trumpet
I roll over dunces
I throw loads of punches
Dickheads are lunches

Verse: (Kojey)
Back Back gimme space, gimme
Got God got Jah with me.
Why the devil want war with me?
Why the devil wanna spar with me?
I, been around been around for a sec.
I, need TLC like Left Eye.
When shit got peak, Man left I,
Now my heart turn black like Wes Snipes.
Sniper, watch a man shed skin like viper.
Drop two two bars when I like her.
No coming back like Rikers.
All that drip but you’re not impressive.
Spark my thoughts, Pen my lessons.
Man can’t talk to much about blessings,
Them man there might think I’m flexing.

By Admin

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