No Face

[Intro: Reekz MB]
Reekz, LD
No face no case
But niggas see us
Blocka, blocka

[Verse 1: Reekz MB]
Lame boy said he on job
Manaman say they wanna catch me
'Cause I made the estate run
Whole block looked like a track team
Mana still trap, but I ain't a trap God
I don't need no trap queen
Push white, smash B
Still got beef on the pavements
Man makes hollow tips find him
Tell you 'bout nights on the go, all day everyday grinding
Free BP out the jail, slapped that corn at the sirens
That's my brother, a rider, and he gets oh so violent
No way, no trace, no case, no face cah I just don't have one
Don't try talk about gwap
When I know you ain't even got a bag one
This that Dimzy flow, no difference yo put a hole in that one
In that ding dong putting in work, and it's a ghostly black one
Shotgun with the action, shotgun there for the action
Manaman talk that jazz, don't be there when it's spazzing
Young G said he on mazza, young G said he wanna shank him
Young G there with a shank ting, shank ting looks like Aladdin's
Mana turn thriller, Jackson, man hit 'em up like Pac did
Patterned, flattened, malice, man leave the crime scene vanish
Selling food, I am, man have got corn in iron
Man have got food, Iams, man has got corn in iron
Man has got corn, fry him
Work out with the work out, niggas know I put the work out
Lurk 'round with the squirt out, bet manaman turn down

[Bridge: LD, Reekz MB]
We've got live corn for an opp boy, got live corn for the sirens
Armed and dangerous, wicked and bad and violent
Nobody's sliding
Step round there with the lifers, bet everyone be silent
Like tell me where the talking now
You young G's gone so quiet

[Verse 2: LD]
I raise my mash on the streets
And I've kicked mans head in with Reekz
I don't know about peace
I'm a real chef, I pepper my beef
I made one of them pussyholes run
And the rest all followed like sheep
I put in so much work on these opps
I don't know how they're mentioning me
I don't know how they're mentioning gang
44's in a 4 door, that was us that was letting it bang
You filthy imposters, like I don't know you wanna be man
Had rusty corn in the 4's that day, that shit didn't jam
You heard a few click-clicks then it banged
I know everyone heard, of big man tryna disperse
Looking all dumb with his name on his shirt
They talk 'bout me on the street
Now look how much niggas been hurt
I've got am, I've got scales, I move work
But fuck the trap talk it's long
I know M, I know Conz
We drillers, we jog
Might see us all on your block, tryna put a face on a top
It feels so right when I do a nigga wrong
I was in Tulse Hill vibsing, dropped bro corn for the 44 long
You stupid Justin Biebers
Stress you out then you garn sing songs
I walk on road with weight
I ain't touching no gym 'cause that shit be long
A thousand grams of am
Man I bruck it all down and I get it all gone
9's, 4's, 2's, anyhow man'll get that gone