Try Step - Devlin, Syer B

I don’t know what he call bars

But he don’t sound like ours

I don’t know what he call bars

But he don’t sound like ours

I don’t know what he call bars

But he don’t sound like ours

I don’t know what he call bars…

Try step

You’re full of bull, I’m a bull get a horn through the bicep

Wanna be a matador

Get splattered more than your girlfriends tits, fried eggs

Tellin me one creepin' and crawlin' around

That I’m Peter Parker with nine legs

Look down on you all from the shard

You ain’t got the balls to climb up my higher fence

Let’s have it right, let’s have it right

When me and syanide are grabbing mics

He don’t get close to the dagenham-ites

Who’s gonna tell me shit about braggin' rights

Nobody here I’m aware of, please let me know if you hear of

Anyone Mr. Limb won’t take care of before they get aired off

Like the radio died

They came back on

When me and Jimmy be singing the sick patterns

Skills leave your limbs and shit scattered

Ill like I’m on pills — you get battered

Real lyrical skills mic jackers

Still keeping it real — it don’t matter

The chill that leave steel bones shatteres

Kneel down in a field you lil slappers

And it takes some dick, you little bait flow bitch

Me and Devlin are sicker than the six of the sickest spitters in this

Write me a list and wipin' my arse with the names that you writ

It’s a myth, when you come try twist with the twisted

I’m leavin' MC’s in the bits

You were like zombies

What

I don’t know what he call bars

But they don’t sound like ours (They don’t sound like ours)

I don’t know what he call lyrics

But they just sound like gimmicks (sound like gimmicks)

I don’t know what he call rhymes

But he don’t sound like mine (he don’t sound like mine)

I don’t know what you flows (what?)

I just don’t know x2

Shuttin' everybody down when I come around

Give them all the run around when I run 'em out

I’m silly with the syllables, some say I’m lyrical

I don’t give a shit no more, I’m just down

The risidual overly-critical way I had a nose that there is no miracles

In a land where man must forever talk

Be king of the jungle or dead at dawn

No man’s land, no badman but I will put up at night and attack man

If I have to I’ll hide in a trash can

All night 'til I finally catch man

No trash talk

Don’t be rash walk and never turn around

Put on a beat, it’s a dirty sound

I’m taking it back, right back to that mad fool

When we came in swinging

Hack from the beginning I’ve been killin' the rythms

And we don’t need no bringing

The circles I’m in is full workers grinnin'

Spring in my step, when I step, my circles winnin'

And that I murk with a purpose that makes observers listen, they’re surplus

spitters

Whose to this shit?, I can’t see anybody here

Plus i’m holding the levels like me and the devil two fucking rebels that leave

'em unsettled I swear

And now they wanna try wrestle, I leave 'em dishevelled

They ever try meddle up in my affairs

I’m vettel fuck levels I’ll never be settled, try step and get levelled

Syanide and Devils

I don’t know what he call bars

But they don’t sound like ours (They don’t sound like ours)

I don’t know what he call lyrics

But they just sound like gimmicks (sound like gimmicks)

I don’t know what he call rhymes

But he don’t sound like mine (he don’t sound like mine)

I don’t know what you flows (what?)

I just don’t know x2