Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Lightwork Freestyle, Pt. 2, artista - Smoke Boys.
Data di rilascio: 16.05.2020
Limiti di età: 18+
Linguaggio delle canzoni: inglese
Lightwork Freestyle, Pt. 2 |
Brigade |
MKThePlug |
We don’t do this shit for clout |
Don’t chill in the T house, grab what I need then I’m in then out |
When it’s drought, I’m still about, fly that hoe or I break it down |
London town, do road for the pound |
I came up off a 3.5, never had a hundred pound |
'Til now, now the pinky’s frozen, wow |
Look at the flick of the wrist, it’s clean like I bust it down |
A man fell off, now they’re smoking brown |
No more smiles, all they do is frown |
Came up, they wanted man down |
And they’re always pissed when man come round |
They don’t want no commotion, give a man smoke when we shouldn’t be smoking |
Brand new dots, got old tings, we ain’t let it beat in long, man’s roasting |
I link cats with testers if I need promotion |
Off map, off ends, seen bro’s in the wrecks making potions |
Wax on, wax off like Sensei |
Run tru packs, I can’t miss leg day |
Just went shop on a segway |
She didn’t wanna bang, got a re-up anyway |
And they get bun, I celebrate |
Why you think I got one glove like MJ? |
Just link uncle for the food, no Kenke, now me and D on the M-way |
At the lights, bro, press and go |
Big dutty,, tear that road |
Still with the goons dem, let them know |
Them boy got no flow, no dough |
Gorillas in the mist, we’ll tek that dough |
Any type of weight, man let that go |
Any type of wave, man get that dough |
Feel any way then let man know |
With my killers, they backward, bill it |
Pray man’s winning, got the gyally dem singing |
Tryna make a k-k-killing in this crazy world that we live in |
Next time I go uptown, I’m spilling |
Won’t stop 'til all the goons dem winning |
Got the gyally in the cutest linens |
Uh, uh, packages came round |
Click and collect quick, I make my way round |
Uh, still undefeated, get down the lane now |
Get up and spray round, mans got packets for days |
Packing the rave, I’m bunning the playground |
When I’m broke, I’m tight like swimwear |
Quick, splash splash on your bae’s face |
Now my babies giving her skincare |
Blacked out with a big beard |
Don’t keep friends 'cause they move weird |
Used to be dot, dot, dot, dot, spin, spin |
And we still got a one spare |
pack, man, got it in rare |
Not naked, got it in bare |
Tell a young boy, «Go, go there» |
I ain’t got time for chasing skets, I tell her, «Cut to the chase» |
See them man, I’ll back that blade like Gillette and shave his face |
Put them niggas in place, man stay packing in case |
Tell her, «Hold my drugs», new plug got man feeling like Ace |
Dope man shoulda went circus, talking 'bout «Riding», man are some learners |
Trapstars doing up purchase, stack them fifty’s like Curtis |
Dem boy probably snatchin' purses, ain’t got no purpose |
If broski rise them burners, gonna be service, suits and hearses |
Last week, bro had to shave mans wig, make a pagan cheat on his barber |
I can’t keep breaking bricks and taking risks, man’s a father |
Trap phone just died but trapping ain’t dead, I just need a charger |
'Til it’s on sight, see them outside, they ain’t on nada |
Got cats and dogs, they’re vicious |
Had to clean the dots like dishes |
I love the spinner, it’s wicked |
Had old friends, had to burn them bridges |
Catch man slipping, he went swimming |
Went crazy, cuz went fishing |
Free bro, I miss him |
H’s in the pen, 'nuff letters got written |
Give it my best, at least, I try to |
She make my meat stand up like tower |
Not in Paris, gave her an eyeful |
Got no, bag with eyeball |
Two in the queue in Whitehalls |
Push have your block exploding, light up the place like man was Guy Fawkes |
With the zombies, light and dark like Michael, one Ken, one Ryu |
Serve dinners like McD’s drive thru |
Told bro that, «You ain’t nothing more than a hoe if you let hoe shit excite |
you», fat stack like Bible |
Put it online for distribution, pack getting streamed like Tidal |
P need a square, only got a pound and a HP spare |
That’s air, anywhere I step, know the chargies there |
Tell 'em, «Don't stare», anywhere the gyaldem there, man there |
Oh, yeah, war ready, man’s here |
Make a man cry a thousand tears |
Any kinda diss, man’s grindin' gears |
Got gyally from far and near, OT bop in my Nike gear |
Any kinda wear, that’s grindin' gear |
Do it for my dargs and slimes in there |
Oh yeah, we are the realest ting, no fear |
We used to go halves on scores, what’s mine is yours |
Told bro, «We got this for life», 18K, not Michael Kors |
These keys don’t open doors |
Clean up the streets, I ain’t doing chores |
If I buss this pack wide open, that’s buds on the floor |
Filled to the top with corn |
Bally on, no ID, who’s that? Jason Bourne |
In the T house, keep adding up |
The line bangs, we ain’t watching porn |
Got got like canister, tryna be the opposite of poor |
TrapHouseMob |