Untitled Song

On a peddlebike, no whip.. Trappin' with the six, tryna make a little

profit to buy myself a whip.

 

The mandem copping sticks to roll with on the strip, G got the

beater ting for any little pricks.

 

There's me fat shank, with the pack on me. The lines ringing fam

cos I always got them cats on me..

 

Everybodys hating, but I just want the stack with me, just holla

at my line cos I aint ever slackin' g.

 

Cos I could never speak the things I've seen, Tazz passed me

the green, so I chill and count my cream.

 

And I be with my six team, tooled up, and we flip green..

Keepin it boasy, to keep these chicks kean.

 

Splashing p's on this green, like we fiends for the queens paper

I'm always busy doin' ish, so I can just chill later.

 

All these fake bitches, thinkin' there trill, servin' up like waiters..

I don't have time for your fake politics, you fuckin' haters..

 

I'm keepin it the number between 5 and 7, I only got two choices

to survive or heaven.

 

Big up my older dons like Legz & Scraps,

always runni

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's fast movement, busy in the 6..

Fam I guaruntee its fizzy when it clicks.

 

 

Cos when theres ps, theres me. And if you sneeze, I squeeze,

for this p's I pree, an ain't nuffin better in this town g.