Lyrics

Amped on tranqs... Amped on tranqs... The M-A Chete Rap war, kill or be chopped to confetti Don Yeti, spit flames on the big game ("Shit man that brare's sick!") Should be my nickname Long heavy, two ton truth buries Big names looking as bait as tooth fairies Magazines gunning me down like Bruce Berry Guys get crushed like buds of blueberry Too real, I'm too ill to do telly Clothes Supreme, my boots are still shellies Talk 'til they swim in the Thames with steel wellies Still heavy, nightmares kill Freddy Rest up under the ground with Ned Kelly 21 chicks from Hell with lead bellies Rolled out, carrying pounds to shed pennies Drink wine, piss champagne and sweat henny I rep heavy! And my crew fed many Back in the old school days of Fred Perrys Red berets, buying weed from a dread benny Nowadays it's a place where I bled many Sit back and I watch ready Guns pop, hit the floor like a breaker from Rock Steady Drop heavy like Vanessa Feltz On the block like feeling how the fake cats never felt Press play and you best blaze But I'm less paid than immigrant girls who work sex trades In a place that stress made With industry snakes who wanna bully this game like they were Nestlé Old kid on a new block Run in your gates and straight pull you out your sheets like Ku Klux One touch and you're spewing all your food up Out there feeling immune to being chewed up No immunity's found within the boondocks HHC to Braintax to Boombox Take heed for payback My crew pops off Deuce deuce like two .22 shots And I do bury crews with the truth Got dudes with a mouth full of dirt up in the booth Got dudes that will chew pots Dudes that will shoot drugs From a rooftop 'Til they're stopped by the blue watch Got plots where the yout's cotch With a few shots in a fusebox outside Sue's block When police do stop, they're ain't nuttin' they could do But drive straight through to a new spot Got tots with the food tryna do drops For the big youts on the moves that are too hot Got cops in a feud with a few blocks Tryna do stops on the youts they assume shot Look, I run with a sick clan Who step to the mic and crush cats like you in 9-6, fam People calling me quicksand 'Cause rappers who step disappear and it's more than myth, fam Never play with no bitch, fam I switch on a mic I'm too tight like the government wristbands You're the son of a rich man, who run up his mouth And got exposed to the world as a bitch, fam In the pressure to withstand Killing yourself, you're in a cell doing one-slit-wrist fam When your memory disbands I'll leave you with your insides out And use your skin like a wigwam And I'm the meaning of Yin-Yang The good and the bad, it's all me Love's free where the sins stamped And I'm a king in this thing champ Jealousy burns, but I rain more flames for your think tank And you're walking a thin plank Bring it to bars, you'll get shanked By skills to kill Bill's ranks Blud, I'm repping a real fam Step to me twice, I'll come along 'n put your face in a wheel clamp Left hook and a steel hand Banging your jaw, like a drum Being played in a steel band And it's gutter for real, fam Me as a kid, I'd buy bread when I knew I had to steal jam And me and Farms'll still slam Swivelling seats to build beats like engineers build tanks My gorilla's are still vamped Amped on tranqs, still vamped, yeah Amped on tranqs