LYRICS: Stormzy – Mel Made Me Do It

[Intro: Stormzy & Abigail Owuo]

(I’m not going economy, no way)

Jheeze, ay, hahahahaha

Ay, mummy

(I’m claiming it, man)

Claim it, Amen

(I’m claiming it)

Claim it, haha

(I said, “I’m not going econ-, on uhm, economy”)

Yeah, right, why

(Stormzy is my son)

Brap, brap

[Verse]

I’ve been the goat for so long I guess it’s not exciting when I win

Boohoo, someone grab the violins

Every time I try a ting, top bins like Haile when he sings

So of course, they don’t like me, I’m the king

Aight, tell me why oh why would I reply to him?

I leave him hanging like Kyrie on the rim, hm

Where do I begin? I wear the 5990 in the gym

I got a thing for shiny little things

What can I say? I’m like a young black Biden with a trim (Woo)

Presidential when I’m ridin’ in the Bimz

Taking pictures with my cameraman, I’m shining in my skin

For eight-figures I’m Aubameyang, I go and sign the ting

Aight, I never wonder about who I could’ve been, ‘cah I’m here

Rose Gold frosted or ceramic

Told bro spin it so he span it

We are not the same, big Mike’s from a whole different—

Top bins, what a set piece, fling it in the net

Could’ve Jet Li kick him ’till he bled

And I’m rent-free living in their head

What’s that quote? Ooh, kill them with success

Talking smoke, please, give it all a—

Still dripping in finesse (God damn!)

Man I got figures and flows I’m a different kind of F

Got a Lambo and a Rolls, that’s a different kind of cheque

And I said I was the G.O.A.T, they didn’t listen when I—, ay

Any time I do a big fletch, just ignore me

Niggas wanna hear my side of the story

Niggas wanna hear a nigga chat like it’s Maury

Fuck that, you niggas better bask in my glory

They call me to slide through the store ‘cah I’m so patterned

To be fair we don’t go Hatton

We don’t tell lies

I think the kids call it no cappin’

The boys rough but the flows satin

I J Hus’tle and I’m MoStack’ing, they wanna’ catch me on the roads lacking

You better pray that it don’t happen (Niggas)

And I don’t sell drugs, still I’m dope rappin’

Have your whole pattern Stiff Chocolate with the book

To be fair, I don’t feel Twitter

Getting told I’m not a real spitter, by some broke-arse bill splitter

Listen, nigga, you got bigger fish to fry, like

If I ever see your girlfriend in Dubai, oh Lord

Party on the boat she’s onboard and the Birkin is a bag you can’t afford, and she’d like one

Do the maths you ain’t the right one

It’s alright, son, we’ll send her back before the nights done

I wrote one, light one, eight-out-of-ten

She’s my aight one, think of a hit then I write one

On when I sight one

This my, this my Ghanaian flow, it’s a tight one (Uh-huh)

If she pretty then I put her on a flight

I put her on a jet if her pussy wait—

Look, my nephews are listening, my chef should be Michelin

There’s guests in my kitchen and my left wrist is glistening

And my tunes getting played from a set to a christening

They’re pissed on the net ’cause I said I ain’t listening

Ugh, real niggas know it’s all positioning

Real niggas know I’m not the victim

Alright, I am I’ll take the L, they hype the ‘gram

They tell their jokes to spite the man

I feed my folks, they bite my hand

I do the most, I’ll fly to Cannes to watch a film, then bye, alright

Headline Reading and Leeds like it’s easy

Funny when they talk about the game ‘cah it needs me

Niggas wanna hear a nigga spill it all to Zeze

Fuck that, you niggas didn’t know that I’m greazy

It’s easy, man talk shit until they see me

Believe me, all you niggas give me (Heebie jeebies)

Word to Lauryn, I will die on this Hill

You little nigga’s two figures shy on my deal

Someone slide me the bill (Okay, I got it)

What my eyes don’t see, the Messiah reveals

If it all goes left, give Jasiah my will

‘Cah I guess I’m just the bredda that they’re dying to kill, ah (Woo)

Your boys mad dark, still I shine like a grill

Yeah, I’m healthy and I’m blessed but I rhyme like I’m ill

Line bagger, holding on the line like Kalil, ooh (Ooh, ooh)

I live a life that they try to fulfil

So they hate on my name but admire my skill

And before I touch stage, gotta’ wire my ‘mil, ah

My niggas do drill that was prior to drill

If you see me with my dragons lookin’ fly in the field

Know Khaleesi couldn’t fathom all the fire I spill, nah

You old washed niggas should retire, for real

There’s a time you should move, and a time to be still

There’s a time to destroy and a time to rebuild

But all I see is washed up Godfathers and washed up podcasters

I own all my masters, I ain’t got masters

I throw a party on the yacht and wear my Yacht Master

They think I just chart top, but I’m the top charter

Gaffer like I’m Scott Parker

From when the mandem use to rock parka’s

I am Nasty, but I’m not Marcus

Genius, I could’ve clocked Harvard

My niggas slide but they are not dancers

Dead rappers wanna swap chargers

Nah, I mean they wanna swap stances

Nah, I mean they wanna trade places

Get to scrappin’ like I ain’t famous

Have you dashing like you’re Dwain Chambers

Follow fashion, man, you fake greatness

To make a classic, yeah, it takes ages

But I still do it like my mate David

Nah, I mean like my bro Dave

Me and MIST, that’s a close shave

They fear this but they won’t say, I’m the nearest on a cold day

They love to talk about the old days

Them man are old like, “Annie, are you okay?”

I prefer not to speak like I’m José

(I prefer really not to, uhm, not to speak, If I speak I am in, in big trouble) (Woo)

This is what I meant when I said what I said

I got whips in my drive, pretty women in my bed

My accolades are bigger than my head

Stylo told me, “Kill ’em ’til they’re dead”

(The killy’dem ah carry one inna di head, Don Dada, kick arff face with bank robber)

If it’s a ting then I’ll just pattern it like Trev, ay

Man I got ‘tec’s like I’m Kylian, punch like I’m Dillian

Walk in a gym and I bump into William

Yeah, the S on chest, yeah, that stands for “Success”

But the M on my hairline stands for my millions

Ah, I got a brilliant car

I got a brilliant team, they wanna’ bring up my past becah I’m living my dream

What we achieved ain’t a shock ‘cah we knew it

We just stepped all clean and said, “Mel made me do it”, ow

Now there’s not enough space in my wardrobe

Benjart fitted on my waist and my torso

Niggas keep on thinking I’m a chief, oh you thought so?

Chatty patty niggas, man, you niggas need a talk show

I’ve never seen real dons turn Loose Women

Sleep real good, fresh sheets, new linen

If we ever played a game called “Guess Who’s Winning?”

Then you’ll open up the door, I’ll be in the room chillin’

There’ll never be a time where me and yous are twinning

Why? Different status, my chicks the baddest

You know the bags Chanel, the trips to Paris

And if your boys a King, the bits a palace

Okay, three O2’s that I sell-out, man, I’m such a sellout

Might fuck around and bring Adele out

Me and Flipz don’t talk like we fell out

Ah, get the hell out, all the shit I gotta’ spell out

Please A-L-L-O-W me

Every time I double-plaque they go and double my P

I was double-spread Mike, now I cover i-D

I wouldn’t cover for you dickheads if you covered my—

Ah, I knew they wouldn’t like it if I blow

Got all your niggas rattled but you hide it on the low

I’m from the city where they’re ridin’ with the pole

And now my nephews can’t believe that Spider-Man’s my bro

Shout Tom, that’s my guy, on-top ’til we die

Yeah, I skip through the world, hop-scotch to Dubai

There’s a lot to divide but my God will provide

Couldn’t get to where I’m going if you hopped in my—

I got TJ tellin’ me we’re done

I said, “I thought I have an hour left?”

Ah, man, my enemies are out of breath

I pray, then I fast, then I counter press

Spent a week in the sticks, but tonight I’m at my South address

Ah, you know how it gets

Holy Spirit, that’s just how I’m blessed

Aight, twenty bags for my shower head, a nigga gotta’ shower fresh

You little boys are out your depth

Know I got Ashville on the yard and Yianni on the wrap

I mean I’m Yianni on the rap

I’m the best at what I do, they think I’m braggin’ on the track

But I’m flexing ‘cah it’s true, and if you went and run it back

You’d know I’d left you with the truth

Because cars don’t make you this lit

The money don’t make you this good

The plaques don’t make you this cold

Give a fuck what my shit sold

I buss a rhyme when I’m in flip mode, you pricks know

The boy’s just way too nice so you always see my music on the shelf

I’ve been the G.O.A.T for so long that they never hype a nigga up