Cant Test My Crew

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Dot Rotten] I'm a crazy chap Sitting down, contemplating whether lord made me black If you owe me P's, you better pay me back I won't be giving you lip, like a facety yack Because I'll run up on the crib and I hype But you run up with the chip for the stick with your lady If you're coming for the fib Then you might get gun up on the rib When I flip, when I craze attack I'm a crazy chap Niggas say Bow when they see me But I ain't from E3 like Maniac Style and dream track To deep this style for free on Bazooka beat Now pay me back Oh, what a sick flow Don't get it twisted, I'm not a prick, no My first big beat that hit the street But da-dadada-da-da [Chorus: Wiley] Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling [Verse 2: Dot Rotten] I'm not having a bit (Ya dun know) No way, never that prick (Ya dun know) Because I don't got damn fingers I got gun fingers to let off the stick (Ya dun know) I'll bury guys in a skip (Ya dun know) I'll flip if you're letting off flip (Ya dun know) Don't be thinking you're a shower guy Because he got a nice chain and a whip (Ya dun know) (Ya dun know) (Ya dun know) Wanna see the mash in my grip? (Ya dun know) Certain guys think they're up there, it's nuts Seeing the king get stabbed in the hip (Ya dun know) I ain't bragging a bit (Ya dun know) It's about stacking the chips (Ya dun know) If you're not down to the greaze Then you could get down on your knees like slicks [Chorus: Wiley] Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling [Verse 3: Dot Rotten] Talk is cheap, that's why you never brought the heat I brought bars that I brought from beats I got food to export on streets to support the fame To get lost when I talk police Cah they watch the ends on camera If I say get him My breddrin will let off the leng and bang ya That's when you say I got head gone [?] Because I'm from an headstrong manner I do this grime ting, I'm down for riding I aim for the top like them dreads on Jammer And lick off the face with a head long spanner Then kick off your plate just for what you say Greazy, think you are, but not today Niggas have popped the .8 for [?] on chains I'm doing this ting but not for fame You want my records, it is a lot to gain [Chorus: Wiley] Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling Can't test my crew, nah, they're dreaming Man might buss his head off the ceiling