LETRA
Kenny Allstar
G8
Opps can’t fuck with da thug
We made the Tridents come
More time it’s a Niner ting
I been that silent one
Opps can’t fuck with da thug
We made the Tridents come
More time it’s a Niner ting
I been that silent one
More time I’ve been complacent
But when bro got dropped
Fuck all the guap
I stepped out with no hesitation
Man lurk from the public station
Slow down ‘cause there ain’t no mistaking
And I’ve been tryna rake this cake in
You can never hold it down like man, ‘cah my life’s been aching
Police on my nuts it’s fucked
Earnt that luck, cases bruck
Opps can’t fuck with da thug
We made the Tridents come
And dis one look like an undie
Nuh, we dont supply that drug
In fact, do I look like a mug?
Word, man, rock on my stainless tucked
We don’t do this monkey bar ting
Fence and get chinged
Bag that work with the latex on, the rack will come in
Again and again, the racks will come in
OT blingin’, the phone keeps ringing
Circle your block, pop doors get chinging
Fuck dem opps, for the boy dem singing
That prick had a vicious dipping
How many nights had to bake in the Bando to get that guap?
I flew OT tryna lick that stain, so we hit that spot
Bag dat up, and serve ‘dem dots
Opps can’t mock ‘bout guap
Man push work a lot
My old school gyal love the way man rock
Man flex on a bae like, «What?»
And true say man crept to the top
Hustle for days, I learnt both ways
Plug for the shape and the crops
It look like I come out the gym and I shot (Whoof)
Look like I come out the gym and I shot
Listen
There’s too much chat on the street, I’ve been itching to write man off
Bro got juice on my favourite shirt, so I burnt that top
Work that chef like it’s Novikov
I’ve been on bail for the longest, more time Boydem gob
Man just sit in the dock, get released and I don’t look bov’
The cops like; «How did he do that job?»
Unknown T
Lets do this Mad About Bars: Season three
But Unknown, seems like you got the streets talking about you and you ain’t even put out a record yet
So it’s only right
We go with the Mad About Bars first
‘Cause, you know, my platform (Unknown T)
It’s just a bit different
(Homerton B)
Take him in
(Gyally on me)
Jheeze!
(The voice of the streets)
(Bali’ on me)
Look; listen, shh
Had a dot-dot up in the cab, got Polkas in bags
We soak him and dash
Bro-bro got the clique on waps
Beg man don’t run, when they see that wap
Got the clique on mash
Beg man don’t run, when they see that wap
Bro-bro got the clique on waps
Beg man don’t run, when they see that mash
I had devilish thoughts when I witnessed the body get chopped
Banged the one pop
In fact, there’s still spots in this spin ting
Come like them old school clocks
Listen
One lickle ching and they chat like kids
He got splashed, and he got cheffed
We didn’t say shit
Gang just pop up and tape off strips
Real nigga shit
Pamper ting, buss off and take mans shit
Bumper ting, bruk’ off and tek’ some dick
She wants some more love
Just take a man in
Want some more love?
Just take a man in
Gyal must be licked if she thinks imma come to her crib
To get caught up and then get nicked
Don’t forget, man got beef on your strip
Don’t forget, man got beef on your strip
I done so much work on the low
I’m only young, mixing a pyrex bowl
Bussed the wap case and the Tridents know
Justice ain’t right, but the jury don’t
C.P.S. they know the justice ain’t right, but the jury don’t
C.P.S. they know the justice ain’t right, but the jury don’t
What you know about moving bookey?
Confusing the angle, ‘cause I’m unpredictable
See this life that I live ain’t fictional
In the system, we’re labelled as. «Criminal»
All about money; don’t care about beef
But few of these yutes have doubts
Don’t care ‘bout your name on street
If you’re on me, I’m cheffing you inside out
And if I catch an M, I will fly out
Poke-poke chef, soak til’ that yute dries out
If a boys got grub, then I will try out, sike
Your boy got yakked then bounced, twice
If I backed my shank on your friend
Ask yourself, «Should I be chillin’ with dem?»
Bromley-by-hoe, give ten-out-of-ten
And she sniff coke, let me give it to dem
How could the feds try lock man for eighty hours and dat?
Rhaatid, it’s mad
Whose that youte tryna move bare bad?
And my music’s up, ‘cause my views went mad
Bits get bagged, haffi’ scale and lag
And free all da guys, locked up in the can
Bits get bagged, haffi’ scale and lag
And free all da guys, locked up in the can
My babes-my babes, said I need rubber bands
Got too much notes in cash
But don’t forget, man still gets paid in bands
Can’t wait til’ the payment lands
The way, the way that the phone just rang
Got seven missed calls at 3am, and it’s only a Benz, like damn
Like, how can a man stress man?
Whose got heart lemme turn that off
Blood on creps, man burn that off
You ain’t done shit on the pitch like Berbatov
Burn man off
I got bagged and I learned a lot
Chase racks, don’t waste more time on a paigon block
I switched plans, now I’m making prof
Mental
That’s what it’s all about
That’s what Mad About Bars is all about
Showcasing the best
Unknown T
T-T.P
Remember, don’t ever forget this name
This guy is gonna be a fucking problem on these roads
Remember, I told you that
Homerton stand up
Let’s go back in
For the third, and final time, damn!
These-, these niggas are bitches
Bro got the 4-4 strong, Rambo long
We’re getting this done, fuck civilians
Well I’ve been on your block with some niggas
If I pop off the door, no-one vigilant
Run out-
Fuck; these niggas are innocent
Surrounded by burners and shotties
Next time drop of the dots to a Botty
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Lurk on your block wid the mop
Get anything opp get- (Buss it now)
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Lurk on your block wid’ the mop
Get anything opp, get popped (Bang it)
Hmm
Whats this dusty thing that your trappin’?
Ain’t no way this worthy of rapping
Yeah, he got talk, but he ain’t on backin’
Rambo blade, reverse it, then whack him
You can fly to my strip like Aladdin
But one wrong deed?
Kerlassin’
Whose on volts?
Attack him
Stamp and did mans back in
Too many opps keep talking smack
My 9 clique made the grown men dash
He tried spin, when he backed that mash
Like, how comes your wasting cash?
My guys, my guys are the last ones left
But still tryna get man whacked
Creep, creep on the low and attack
We got slugs, nah my team never lack
Lay low ‘cause we’re lurking lots
Numerous blades, out to switch man off
Can’t even say too much on a track
‘Cause the blocks too hot, it’s time to get guap
Heard that half of the streets on us
But didn’t know gang got the beaters tucked
‘Cah anytime we see men, more time the heat get buss
Still got to focus on clientele
Push that buj, with the light as well
Move brave, but I’m booters from jakes
Racial abuse’s what the Tridents yell
Too many rats, ‘cause the opps just chat
How can a-
How can a man say I ain’t gripsed a wap?
Blud, go check my CV, akh’
Believe that rap, ‘cause I’m speaking facts
Believe that rap, ‘cause I’m speaking facts
He got splashed, but your team don’t back
He got yacked, and he got wrapped
The only way you cut’s high knees in fact
Lay low while we’re making cash
Don’t forget, gang still trap and mash
Anyone on road could purchase that wap
But focus, and raise that stack
Beefing my clique?
That’s a Shaolin battle
D.S, Adz, my broadie shackled
My brodies shackled his heart
His heartrate’s beating
Look how your brody’s rattled
Run or get tackled
I think some keeps singing them carols
Now the whole of the streets move baffled
Rah, I’m dazzled
Gang brush off all the opps like Basil (Boom, boom)
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