(Chorus)
In a comfy old Yorkshire town/
Where it’s pouring down/
And the skies are Grey/
Inside drinking cups of tea/
It’s enough for me/
To let my mind escape/
Where there’s rolling hills/
And a load of mills/
And they harvest grade/
And though most want to go/
It’s still our home/
And Dub Y’s the name//

(ExP)
Dub Y’s the name/
Put aside the hate/
Some guys love punchlines, some rhyme for days/
Feel inclined to say/
This is my kind of place/
Represented by double you why, shouts to Bane/
I get slightly blazed, make beats, write a page/
Record it, have a cypher, my 5-a-day/
And cos skies are grey, and there’s signs of rain/
We’re inside sampling vinyl from night to day/
NY’s the place, where hip-hop was born/
So Yorkshire’s the place to be, props to York/
On the moors with a boombox or on ya porch/
Flame Grilling lots of pork, goes on till dawn/
What’s The Score? Good hip-hop from ninety six/
Ignite spliffs, sipping pints write a rhyme to this/
It’s like life isn’t right without the kind of riffs/
That we cut from jazz records till it’s time to chip/
Or it’s time to blend, or it’s time to bounce/
Or it’s time to do one, or this time we’re out/
Barely a moment of my life spent in silence now/
I wake up and fall asleep to the righteous sound/
Clear mind in the morning or the sorest head/
Always support the community of Yorkshire’s West/
Hip-Hop everywhere else is a corpse it’s dead/
They wonder why we shout Yorkshire at your event//

(Chorus)
In a comfy old Yorkshire town/
Where it’s pouring down/
And the skies are Grey/
Inside drinking cups of tea/
It’s enough for me/
To let my mind escape/
Where there’s rolling hills/
And a load of mills/
And they harvest grade/
And though most want to go/
It’s still our home/
And Dub Y’s the name//

(Addverse)
I rep Yorkshire, yeah we’ve got the north and the south/
But its West where we got the best talk from the mouth/
Leaving others thinking how come, teaching you the outcome/
Of cyphers, hard work, EPs and albums/
The CDs are now done, come grab some next clothes/
Whether they're WY, BOISHT or EJECTOS/
Respect those, heads representing the county/
We proudly shout out it’s now getting rowdy/
Funky, a lot of things around me disgust me/
The state of my estate is ugly/
You've got to take the rough with the smooth now the ride’s getting bumpy/
Trust me, I still I got love for God’s country/
It’s not an accident I live where I’m happy, that’s/
Surrounded by Leeds, Huddersfield to Halifax/
Wakefield to Pontefract, Bradford and Bingley/
Horsforth to Yeadon, Brighouse, Tingley/
It’s strictly a passion for the state I was raised in/
Settlements are placed in a place that’s amazing/
Green fields for grazing, cities for the socialites/
Yorkshire is the place keeps me warm through the coldest nights//

(Chorus)
In a comfy old Yorkshire town/
Where it’s pouring down/
And the skies are Grey/
Inside drinking cups of tea/
It’s enough for me/
To let my mind escape/
Where there’s rolling hills/
And a load of mills/
And they harvest grade/
And though most want to go/
It’s still our home/
And Dub Y’s the name//

(JND)
Dub Why is the name of the Shire I reside in/
So the accent you hear shouldn't be a surprise when/
I open my mouth to recite them/
Words that I scribbled down, capture the vibes then/
Despite them hating my rhymes bring imagery/
Rather spit thousands of words than a picture piece/
Not cos my drawings lack skill or ability/
But to put it simple these/ heads would be in guillotines/
Picture this/ stone built housing surrounded/
By green hills enclosing the township/ soak in the brown cliffs/
When Ilkley Moor baht at's the most known track from around it's/
Time for a change from the outset/
Don't watch what Emmerdale farm says/
Braddy int a Last of the Summer Wine farce, let’s/
Be honest, every city has a dark side you don't cross/
A place where the hope’s lost, but we chose to be more than most thought/
Was possible, smarter than the rest created/
Chavs are dangerous; a chav with brains is underestimated/
Despite the attire and dialect I utilise/
I calculate my words, this tracksuit is my suit and tie//

(Chorus)
In a comfy old Yorkshire town/
Where it’s pouring down/
And the skies are Grey/
Inside drinking cups of tea/
It’s enough for me/
To let my mind escape/
Where there’s rolling hills/
And a load of mills/
And they harvest grade/
And though most want to go/
It’s still our home/
And Dub Y’s the name//