Intro

[Verse]
I started shotting weed at a young age
I was shotting for a plug for some clump change
Started hitting way more shots than a gun range
I was on the strip from Monday to Sunday
Sunday to Monday, on the strip just hitting shots
I was stealing all the customers from local shops
I was running round the streets, up and down the blocks
I done time, I done crime, they tried bird me off
And I came up from a OZ
My ends line bangs so I ain't heading up to O.T
Twenty-five round my neck, don't approach me
I trust in my young G, he's got the whoosh or the pokey
And if you ever try provoke me
I'll roll with the killers that will load up and smoke G
My team's a differеnt kinda calibre
Thick bitch, she Sri Lankan, she smеlls like lavender
Listen babe I ain't mad at ya
Every time I get up in the morning I see money on my calendar
I beat the pussy, she the Hellcat, I'm the Challenger
Self made boss, there's no need for no manager

[Verse 2]
I'm on the M-way swerving, on a dead day I'm earning
Pack land, gotta get to the working
Race mode, foot down, now I've got the tyres all burning
They all hurting cause I just put down a fifty stack on my jewels
I gotta stop, I ain't learning
Gotta tell my mum "Sorry"
Cause when I'm heading O, I ain't gonna be returning

[Verse 3]
Twenty-five, you must be buzzing if you think that you can touch it
My young G will let it off for nothing
Runners keep on running, I tell 'em "It weren't nothing"
If he keeps on working fam I told him "You'll have suttin"
I stretch the grub to the maximum
And if I see a boy shotting in my ends then I'm taxing 'em
I leave the work with my Paki friend
I push the work out my akhi's ends
And if it's beef we're attacking them
All chrome or a blacky skeng
I remember we was all broke
Sleeping on the floor, trapping on my own
It paid off cah now we spend a thousand notes

[Verse 4]
And when I step in my trap spot
Either counting up figures or I'm bagging till my back's fucked
And I done it from young
But now I'm showing other youngers couple ways to get their racks up
In an A3 on the A3, now it's AMG left hand on the wheel and it's eighteen
They just daydream, me I'm really living it
Thank God that I'm breathing
Still telling bros to bang their doors till they free them
And I didn't need no one, just a whole one
Hit country, turn that phone on
They got a bag of friends, I got a bag of tens
O.T., trapping out an automatic Benz
I come up off a few Z's
Nowadays I only make calls for a few ki's
Real shit, this talk ain't no rap cap
If you're talking guap, show your wrist, you can't back that
Got bros on road that love to tap that
Opps love the chit chat, we just do that trap trap
And I've got cats that wait around cuttings
No ghost, got that bang bang
Five figure loss, light work, make that cash back
Two tings on the table, I'm like "Rah shit hurry up and bag that"