I love Chris Rich
Trizzac
I don't grab girl's waist and whine
I grab samurai's and ride
Me and my knife that's Bonnie and Clyde
'Cause any time I ching, I love when they cry
I bored up Scopez and I chinged Jet
Black, how can you say that is blade is dry?
I always got my knife on my hips and my thigh
Swing flings at your necks but this ain't no tie
And I guess that I must be buzzing
'Cause we already put K on them
And gang done cheffed up dozens plus, we done slapped off them skengs
Ments, I ride with my brothers not friends
Got my latex on in paigon ends
Denz, remember that time that we cheffed
Up three different yutes, try party in Pecks
Rambo knife in my drawers or drawers
They both didn't die from a natural cause
One got bun and the other got bored
We winning this game go check them scores
Lord, knows that I like that mop but
I hate when my mum says do them chores
The keys was inside the yard, damn, I had to kick off that door
Oi, lean out the ride and pitch him
Came with the mop you'd think mans witches
Opp boys really some bitches
Come like they don't blow smoke just kisses
Throw up a B for Brixton, them man throw up a B we get them
I don't wanna hear no disses, at a close range them man are missing
Ay broski, sweep him, sweep him, grab him
Jook up his rassclart body (ching, ching)
Ay young bro's moving too sav, they even try do up a yute in colly
And an opp is an opp, you know I assist, crossing the ball, I volley
And I got a linkie in Lee not Tommy she's holding my stuff for me
Give us the nicest drop, go get it done, no not probably
Them man thought that they got me
True I came back like a fucking zombie
Attempted do it with a ching
Have a opp boy saying please don't chong me
Bro just gave man a movie now the
Dumb yute's saying please don't rob me
It's my fault that your guy bored
In fact it was me that bored him
And, I bored up my man too and his
Bruce Lee says that I ain't been scoring
How many man have I given these chest shots?
Why the fuck do they keep restoring?
Wet, wet, water pouring
True say I can make your clothes look foreign
I hate when niggas chat shit like kids
Yeah I coulda said more but I bit my lip
No cap in my rap no fucking fibs
Blade from my knee to my fucking hip
Leave man ripped like jeans not slit
Remember that day on Old Kent Road
Mayksi ran to the pigs so I think he's a snitch
Twenty five years in the whip can't
Stop for the pigs that shit is a myth
See blue lights oh shit oh shit
Should we decamp, dash or skrr and skid
The opps don't ride for the ones in piss
Must be in their graves doing turn and twist
Bill it, turn that riz
You know who I see when I burn my spliff, ay, ay, ay
Me and bro in the beat down dinger
Squeeze that trigger, catch that nigga
I don't like these thoughts that I'm thinking
Suttin 'garn fry when I take mans dinner
No way can you touch my driller
Tell a man don't like Bryson Tiller
No way can the corn get bigger
Two twin bells gonna change his figure
And he saw that light no filament
I don't even care who's innocent
Friends of the opps same difference
Still get yinged, juice spilling it
Have you ever stepped out with savages?
If a man don't run, they're cabbages
Mark that yute and tackle him
No red card, that one's mbarrassing
Big arse start backing it up
No filter I'm slapping it up
Slow man enthusiast chatting it up
Next thing you know were crashing him up
My mans girl I'm whacking it up
Big man ting he's actually fucked
No lotion I'm mashing it up
Wheel it back I'm jacking it up (no-no-no)