Letra de TV

[CLICKS]

I know a kid called cock sniff he's tighter than the locksmith
He smokes weed with half a quiff but still boxes it
It's not the rogative I'm all about the positive
I'm making money on the sly kid it's obvious
That I'm making moves, you're just chasing views
Stop thinking that you're sick kid and make your move
I've been brought in the game kidda not to lose
And when I'm on the bevvies kid you know I'm getting chews
So get down on your knees you dirty little bitches
I'm sick of snitches and the police taking fucking pictures
Cause I'm cutting out the middle man
Pass the joint take a picture call it instagram
You talk shit on the road then you miss a man
You get wrapped in the sheet just for pissing fam
You get lost in the woods couldn't give a damn
I slice your face bail the board I've got the sickest plan
I pack the heat on the road and let me show your nan
I bring the beef to your grill like a metal pan
So I'm just chilling, Jukey's just killing
You're chatting pure lemo kid you know that it's penicillin
And you know that I'm willing got the blade on my side like I'm cooking in the kitchen
Tie ups and robberies, that's how we living life
I've got the sickest flow, sharper than the sickest knife
Packing heat on the road and let me show you twice
You chat the beef kid you might as well pay the price
So put the money in the bag do as you're told
It's North West where the boys bury rats in the cold
So say I'm not Scouse, I grab the strally and the bally run straight through your house
I got an oz of weed on strap and I'm bumping it
You're never getting paid kid stop fronting it
Acting big but we know you're really full of it
You got robbed in the game kid you're just a muppet
We're smoking pure cheese, I'll catch you slipping in Tesco and wig you with a tin of beans
So don't bother giving shit like my mother, I'll slap him in the face couldn't give a shit get your brother

[JUKE]

Trust I'd do ye, the .38 Ruger, the 9 mil Luger, will rip right through ye
Fuck that shit ye wanna be a fistfight loser
Don't fistfight cause then the little bitch might sue ye
I'd rather give a leggy, the pit might chew ye
Ye might go white lad the kid might spew ye
But ye think I give a shit, fuck that, I'll BOOT ye
No messing when I put it in ye chest and shoot ye
Got birds that I link, no time for boozin
I know I'm getting drinks, no time for losin
Kid he's whipping out a shiv no time for choosin
Backin out the fifth and it's time to shoot him, yeah
Cause ye wouldn't understand the passion till ye bang a strap ye'll never get the gist of gangster rappin'
Straight bad lad, done me licks and had me bashings
Now I've got bags of stacks of dirty cash in
Yeah, and I've got the shotty firing
He's getting bodied for a hobby and it's nothing silent
I'm getting guap up on the spot because the block are violent
I put the bob up on the gog and then the jocks are dialin'
Ye wanna bodybag a noddy then ye gotta time it
And if ye can't find the time, then ye better find it
Cause if the plod have got you locked lad then you better ride it
Don't be snitchin' on your boys cause you'll be getting silenced
I'm sittin' in the station, lad I'm flippin' at this bizzie cause he isn't patient
I get me brief, no comment fuck a written statement
Press the buzzer for the woman seeing if they're bailin'
Snitching bitches Adam Lee and Conor Dean, they grass mans up, then they vanish off the scene
Don't be flap cause they act tough they're nothing keen, I'm in the ramma bang a hammer landing on ye bean
I stack grands up, when I bag an ogg of cheese
I got me hands rough, land of the flogging keys
I've been banged I've been slammed just for robbin' peas
And now I'm chilling with me man up with a crop of weed
So fuck religion I don't listen to the prophecy
And fuck your system I'm not giving up my job you see
I'm not living in the shit so I'll be chopping Bs
We do the biz properly, cause we're proper Gs
Aged 15, doing street robs and burglin'
And when Jukey lets the beat drop he's murderin'
Wait kid I'm sure that's a rat lad reverse him in
Let me grab the little twat and lad I'll have him curdlin'
.50 cally in ye mullet, that'll have ye gurglin'
Whippin' out the semi then the bullets gonna be hurtlin'
If ye chattin' stacking dough then ye know that I be earnin' it
Reefer in the teether whippin annies when we turnin it
When it comes to money lad, the lessons I be learning it
Hublots and Raymond Weil watches I'm wearing em
Chattin that ye stackin dough ye know ye better turn it in
I smoke haze while ye fuckin rocky bums are burning in
Chattin that he's heavy, he's thinkin that I'm scared of him
The fact of the matter is, that I've never heard of him
You can ring your boss and trust me kid I'll have a word with him
And after that you firm of fuckin worms can go and burn ye gimp
BANG