Note to an opp

I'm wavey like the ocean, but windy like a turbine.

Yung Gabz be the work type, two packs gone by lunch time

T be kicking back with the amnesh like its half time.

 

I be on on the corner, posted with my cutta

Loud weed and white tee's just like the summer.

 

Your bitch is fucking stupid, but her brain be even dumba

Money over bitches, like its just me and my brudda

 

We aint central London cos, this the Horley gutta

Door bell ringing off, so i’ma heat it at the buzza

 

I know the olders hatin, cos Reapz that cocky younga

You ain't runnin shit now so go suck your muddas

 

From six to them two nines, I don't roll wif new guys

My issue isn't televised just know you gotta stay wise

Navigating through her eyes, destination to her thighs

 

I know your chatting smack, I can see it through your eyes

Talking like your strapped up, you oppsman talkin bare lies

 

Talking like your deep and that your mandem the type to ride,

well I was on your block two man up an un-supplied.

 

Truth to be told we was slippin', and you didn't make a move

man your bitches, where I'm from we call you snitches.

 

You shoulda stay and helped your mudda wif the dishes,

cos your actin like computers making glitches.

 

Really, we all know your paigon bitches..

but we soon catch you in the field.