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作词 : B. Ayemere/T.S. De Cordova |
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作曲 : B. Ayemere/T.S. De Cordova |
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Mokuba |
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Mokuba Lives Beats |
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Been missing, I ain't feeling it |
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Bro told me hit the bando and keep killing it |
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They took my bros, **** the judge, **** the silly CIDs |
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I hit the corner shop, two Zanco's, sim and chip |
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When I hit the lick, I get thoughts of the dead |
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Same time bro-bro sauced up a neck |
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I probably gotta get my mind sorted a second |
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But Ash need me, keeps calling again |
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Suttin' got candid, that's where the cliff hangs |
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The weekend pops, ain't talking no wristband |
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I could've text her and done me a quick two |
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Them *****s so prang, they're slapping they **** bands |
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And Johnny text back, he told me my shit bangs |
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But I already know, I ain't gonna reply back |
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My pack half brown, half white, it's a ice frap |
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I really put work in the floor in the high flats |
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I should've never forced myself on the fast train |
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But we was fifteen with raps of the class A |
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And now they're gonna lie for the niggas on IG |
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They gave bro life and that's why my heart ache |
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Cah I was in class assaulting my classmates |
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And then my nigga lied, I got issues with my trust |
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So me, M's hit the tizzy on spring break |
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I ain't even 20, my nigga, I fling grub |
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**** fist fights, you touch me, I swing this |
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Civils can't help him, watching him sinkin' |
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I'm probably with K36 or Jim Jibz |
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Cah I don't know what you other niggas are thinkin' |
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And you ain't got five in your junker drinkin' |
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Do it like Mike or Myth when I swing this |
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And suttin' ain't right, but I couldn't be right |
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Cah suttin' got diced, a nigga just limping |
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My sim jam packed, I got fiends in the doorway |
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I tell 'em double that like I leaned on pure ye |
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He choking out, he can't breath, this the powers |
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He been at it for hours like he's battling a court case |
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Catting for the sorbet |
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Bro said I'm a rapper, I still fling it twenty-fours |
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Summertime, I'm comfortable, it's cling up in my drawers |
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Foot chase by the constable, they're filling up my ward |
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But I still raise my hand like I'm winning an award |
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I ain't sinkin', I got packin', everything in fashion |
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Gold my block for dutty and stiff chapping |
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He ain't on I, I know that it's just chatting |
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But either way I pattern the pattern, it get managed |
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Either way I pattern the pattern, it gets sorted |
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I mixed the pack with magi', I just bought it |
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We could've gone clear or clear the whole mortgage |
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But when they took T-Sav back, it all halted |
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Tell me what you need, we got sorts in a dozen |
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I'm sorting out my man, then sorting his cousin |
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The hood ****ed, I could've been at war with my cousin |
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Then bro got life cah he tore up a suttin' |
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I'm painting you my story like I'm Dave or I'm Rapman |
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We make bands then the askaar 'nap gang |
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****ed up the mots', the DVLA banned man |
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I need a mo' stack like Skamz and Clan Clan |
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My man ah bang, who you shaved up badman? |
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My nigga Rella pull up on dingers with live smoke |
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I got 'ed like Sheeran and Dave like Santan |
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So when I step foot in the mountains, it's no joke |
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I used to break weed 'til cuzzy the cook-cook |
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So I been on the mots', I don't know when I'm back home |
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My mummy begs me stop switching up my phone |
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Cah she can't get through, she panics and call bro |
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