"Ghost" lyrics
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
Pickin' me a winner
Picky hair an' I was a little bit thinner
3310 with a customised ringer
I was tryna holla at Lavinia but she weren't ina
'Cause I was a sinner, thought I was a minger
Never had a Bimmer
Rollin' through the ends on a stolen aprillia
Waiting for the Dominos guy to deliver for a free dinner
Thought I knew it all I was just a beginner, never was a singer
I was on pirate radio way before I heard Mike Skinner
Wagwan killer, yeah, that's my nigga
Talk about race but it's just way bigger
I ain't gonna waste no time on Twitter
Done with the jibba, cry me a river
Say it to my face or say it to my trigger
You go figure, or reconsider, Indian giver
Lookin' for a chocolate girl with a hint of vanilla
And she can bring a Indian with her
I just want a bosom for a pillow
An' I got a little bit o' skrilla
We can get a boat and we can get a villa
Or we can be on South Beach ruining your liver
All killer, no filler
I don't wanna brag or boast
I don't cater and I don't host
When they ask what I do I say I do the most
Then I get ghost, on the coast like I am supposed
Don't pose and I do not post
And that's why these girls wanna play me
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
They ain't put food on my table, I rock the cradle
Big dirty stinkin' logo I rock the label
I've been doin' this since cable
I was on the graveyard shift in the studio
Only popped out for a salt beef bagel
I was on the roads when it was unstable
I'm not an angel, beef had more than a plate full
But I ain't hateful, born in the 80s, year of the 8 ball
Come back 18, could've been a facial, would've been painful
Raised in the 90s, it was still racial, bloody disgraceful
Why are these yutes so bloody ungrateful
Talk about grime like I ain't a staple
I was on the mic when you was in play-school
Stabbed six times yo it could have been fateful
Would have been 6 foot deep
On my bredrin's T-shirt lookin' distasteful
Would have been wasteful
Never would have seen the Caribbean in April
Shackin' up with Rachel, givin' her a face-full
Never would have been seven figures deep
Walkin' down the street with a gorgeous freak in a chief
Screamin' "Come out the way, fool!"
I don't wanna brag or boast
I don't cater and I don't host
When they ask what I do I say I do the most
Then I get ghost, on the coast like I am supposed
Don't pose and I do not post
And that's why these girls wanna play me
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
Pickin' me a winner
Picky hair an' I was a little bit thinner
3310 with a customised ringer
I was tryna holla at Lavinia but she weren't ina
'Cause I was a sinner, thought I was a minger
Never had a Bimmer
Rollin' through the ends on a stolen aprillia
Waiting for the Dominos guy to deliver for a free dinner
Thought I knew it all I was just a beginner, never was a singer
I was on pirate radio way before I heard Mike Skinner
Wagwan killer, yeah, that's my nigga
Talk about race but it's just way bigger
I ain't gonna waste no time on Twitter
Done with the jibba, cry me a river
Say it to my face or say it to my trigger
You go figure, or reconsider, Indian giver
Lookin' for a chocolate girl with a hint of vanilla
And she can bring a Indian with her
I just want a bosom for a pillow
An' I got a little bit o' skrilla
We can get a boat and we can get a villa
Or we can be on South Beach ruining your liver
All killer, no filler
I don't wanna brag or boast
I don't cater and I don't host
When they ask what I do I say I do the most
Then I get ghost, on the coast like I am supposed
Don't pose and I do not post
And that's why these girls wanna play me
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
They ain't put food on my table, I rock the cradle
Big dirty stinkin' logo I rock the label
I've been doin' this since cable
I was on the graveyard shift in the studio
Only popped out for a salt beef bagel
I was on the roads when it was unstable
I'm not an angel, beef had more than a plate full
But I ain't hateful, born in the 80s, year of the 8 ball
Come back 18, could've been a facial, would've been painful
Raised in the 90s, it was still racial, bloody disgraceful
Why are these yutes so bloody ungrateful
Talk about grime like I ain't a staple
I was on the mic when you was in play-school
Stabbed six times yo it could have been fateful
Would have been 6 foot deep
On my bredrin's T-shirt lookin' distasteful
Would have been wasteful
Never would have seen the Caribbean in April
Shackin' up with Rachel, givin' her a face-full
Never would have been seven figures deep
Walkin' down the street with a gorgeous freak in a chief
Screamin' "Come out the way, fool!"
I don't wanna brag or boast
I don't cater and I don't host
When they ask what I do I say I do the most
Then I get ghost, on the coast like I am supposed
Don't pose and I do not post
And that's why these girls wanna play me
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost don't pose and I don't post
Close, close, wanna get close on the coast
Ghost, ghost
Writer(s): Dylan Mills, Dan Farber, Yoram Taharlev, Yair Rosenblum
