Cant Test My Crew

[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