I've got my winter coat, hoodie hat and gloves on
Waiting at the bus stop
Thinkin' its not late, and as I brush off
Crouching on the stair case
Country rubbing bear face, pockeries
Nobody comes to their aid
Present day!
February she's here, always sees the leap year
Hide away that secret stash and keep lit
We fear!
Nothing, not a damn thing
Pulling out like ham strings
Makes you wanna flip out, click clack
Bang bang
Pressure got my blood pumping
And running and drug juggling
Which I am currently gun smuggeling
They stand!
Credit cards and cash backs
Gameplan he Names brands
Seeling g's and getting keys for free bags
Hard food
Deep inside a tall block
Freezing my fucking balls off
Seen free, crack fiends, packed in my tool box
Weed cakes
Put in on the big scales
Bag it up and make sales
Get back on your hustle, grizzle whatever
Trouble making younger lads
Guns in the plastic bags
And back packs for fun cutting slags
Dog flats
Currency or coke racks
You might get your throat slashed
Watch your back the feds have got your phone tapped
Reckless
A bundle of teenagers, under police surveillance
We don't give a fuck were smotherin' the pavement
Think fast
I was rareley in class
Can't you see that shit's hard
So I am on my hustle grizzle whatever
We're born in the b's so I'm never gonna stop
The euros, dollars, p's, I'm gonna get a lot
From sunup to sundown [?] whenever
No resting whatever the weather
We're born in the b's so I'm never gonna stop
The euros, dollars, p's, I'm gonna get a lot
From sunup to sundown [?] whenever
No resting whatever the weather, yeah
Indies on friendly streets, munching on some jelly beans
Hungry as it'll ever be, he's looking for that
Go steal
Jelly comes he won't chill
a crook becoming so ill, he's looking at some road kill
That maybe i should
Grab that, thats everything he had stashed
He left that in his backpack and kept it in his nan's flat
He worked like a lab rat, the first sign of that cat
He swears he's gonna flip out, click clack
Bang bang, he is troubling juggeled in drugs smuggeling
But someone done him in
Now he's stuck in the slums, suffering
Without rule, the scoundrel, who used to have a house full
But now knew reduced to lack your mouthfuls, he's doubtfull
He gains cash, back to where his two-faced brethren's at
Spending then forgetting that he soon may regret the flash
He didn't run, that pistol on the victim's gonna sing a song
But 'til it's on he'll get back on his hustle, drizzle, whatever
Racist feds, fucked out kids
[?] out chicks stunk like shit