Lyrics
DT5 on the beat
Senseii
Shout out Fumez on this one, you get me?
Plugged in
In Zone - tryna cause some hell
Made - dance, cut shapes as well
They can't have beef so they sing like Adele
War is war and time will tell
Glock 32, no .32 bells
Get well soon if you hold these shells
Youngers to olders scream like girls
Rise this well, that's a dig-up for sale
In Zone - tryna cause some hell
Made - dance, cut shapes as well
They can't have beef so they sing like Adele
War is war and time will tell
Glock 32, no .32 bells
Get well soon if you hold these shells
Youngers to olders scream like girls
Rise this well, that's a dig-up for sale
If I crash this car on a glide
Don't worry 'bout your car getting dented
If I jump out, swing my shank
Pierce man's lungs and I fucking meant it
Stack my bread then I got it invested
Waps on deck, in the N- I test it
TP gang from the deepest trenches
Get back where? Get back in them benches
Hold up, wait, I ain't finished this sentence
Four waps up, this Smoke Squad settings
Jump out, gang put the opps on pendants
15 inch but the Glock's my preference
Five man deep, that's perfect attendance
Why the opps keep hurdling fences?
Don't ask me personal questions
Ching man down, I'm jerking him endless
Blacked out GLA or Mokka
Me and S in a bruck-down Honda
Spin that whip if I see me an opper
Call backup, chinged him proper
Samurai sword cuts like a chopper
Bro with the Glock, fill it with copper
Got live corn for an opper
They don't wanna see what I got in my locker
Them man there just talk on the 'Gram
I get 'round there in a ding-dong van
Looking for him or a so-called fan
Slide that door, young g go ham
Pray that the .44 ting don't jam
Rate that aim, 99 no Sam
I'm on the opp block tryna rise and tan
I'm on the opp block tryna rise and tan
I got bare gyal 'round, jiggy-jiggy on deck
In B- got the jiggy on deck
In T- estate got the blikky and kwef
No way, he still get cheffed
Don't move right, you will get left
Shots get beat from the nine and TEC
Baddie, baddie give drops in W-
Flick it, flick, it that's blades in necks
Who's that? My man throwing up-
You can get left like the Christmas ghost
Drugs, money, it come from the coast
White like Tommy and brown like Saint Patrick
Niggas get lit like I'm lighting my matches
Shots get sent, we don't wait for no catches
Fresh out the box and it's automatic
Tell the driver, "Stop here, let me slap it"
I'm on the backroad, I'm on my Jack Jones
But still we crash corn at them
I beg you don't leave your friend
Six feet deep where the opps get sent
Shit gets peak and I know they're stressed
Cah the OTP's got loaded skengs
Spin that whip, try catch me an M
Tell my young Gs don't lack like-
Two-litre ride, let's go on a glide
Shit get's peak when us man ride
In my mother's hood where my opps get fried
Known to the pigs as a violent guy
You best not lack, got my zombie knife
Got no waps, so the rap is a lie
Invest in shanks, still don't ride
Kidnap squad, don't rap no lies
Who's that? What's that?
Jump out, get him
In the N- with a rusty weapon
Two AKs, put the four in the seven
Have you ever seen a golden berett? And
Slap that corn at his melon
Slide through with the Wesson
Question, question
Why the fuck you leaving your bredrin?
In Zone - tryna cause some hell
Made - dance, cut shapes as well
They can't have beef so they sing like Adele
War is war and time will tell
Glock 32, no .32 bells
Get well soon if you hold these shells
Youngers to olders scream like girls
Rise this well, that's a dig-up for sale
In Zone - tryna cause some hell
Made - dance, cut shapes as well
They can't have beef so they sing like Adele
War is war and time will tell
Glock 32, no .32 bells
Get well soon if you hold these shells
Youngers to olders scream like girls
Rise this well, that's a dig-up for sale
Fumez The Engineer