[Verse] Lil vape cloud halo on the night bus, numb tongue off the street drinks, cheap shoes on the cobbles, whole squad do the side-quest sprint. Retro tracksuit, smell of chips, cold rain on the ripped pink fringe, I been broke in three currencies, still rich in my stubborn lil grin. [Chorus] Don’t tell me you don’t love it, you don’t love it when the bassline argue with the church bell, pavement start to hum. Don’t tell me you don’t love it, you don’t love it when the drunk kid freestyle to a shop-front, words trip, then run. Don’t tell me you don’t love it that wrong note piano in the corner of the pub, still stun. [Verse 2] Four chords on a sticky-key upright, pedal squeak sing backup vocals, my mate off-beat on the handclap, whole room lean out of focus. Flat pint on the amp, lil foam on the spill, stage smell feral but hopeful, I talk big about charts in a toilet queue, crown made of Rizla and locals. [Prechorus] Every cracked tile, every bad wire buzz in the monitors, tell me it ain’t church when the crowd hit the wrong words in the wrong order. [Chorus] Don’t tell me you don’t love it, you don’t love it when the synth bend cry through a carwash tape hiss, sun in your lungs. Don’t tell me you don’t love it, you don’t love it when the Uber man nod to the kick drum, steering wheel drum. Don’t tell me you don’t love it, you don’t love it when your ex in the back of the club hear our hook, go dumb. [Bridge] Who else turn a rent notice to confetti, slow burn from the red bill flames, who else turn a DM left on seen to a whole verse
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