Amped on Tranqs

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