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looney freestyle - aj tracey lyrics

[intro]
maybach music

[verse 1]
i had to take it on a crud tip
vampire t**th, make your blood drip
n*ggas moving tsunami when we flood strips
i don’t smoke, but that amno bubblegum stinks
white gold, used to have some nice links
n*ggas slipping, air 1s on a ice rink
plum liquor on the rocks, that’s a nice drink
cute whitey with a backs, that’s a nice chick
i might flip jilly’s then i might dip
they don’t listen then i’ll take it on a mic tip
ear on the floor, that’s a fight ring
insurance on a golf, that’s five jim
while i chopped like looney had to write this
got gassed like looney had to ride this
i’m so dope fam, you know i’m so dope
i spit bars little n*ggas can’t cope
black hoodie so the piggies can’t scope
i be the pres, other kiddies can’t vote
suttin’ like the tarmac, ‘cah i’m so road
black blackberry and you know i’m so bold
there’s bare gas, blowhole
i be a pirate like yo ho
flow’s f*cking filthy, soho
looney be the full ting, not a promo
on the roads, more p
white chicks, naughty
she got a chest, she doesn’t press
she’s a milkshake, strawberry
these little fakers wanna war me
copping in the booth, gunz corey
you ain’t on my page or my story
n*ggas always hating ’cause their females adore me
get off my d*ck, get a job
they all hate on me but thing is, i don’t mind a lot
true friends really, i don’t have a lot
few i have got around my table, camelot
who’s this yute scr*w*ng me in the corner?
he’ll get wet like a milf on p*rnhub
mcs waste time with their war dubs
wait ’til he steps outside, get his jaw trucked
looney, i’m the author
my flow is a wh0re, it’s more f*cked
wave like me, not even a quarter
go ahead, try bar, but i warned ya
rinsing mcs without water
who’s this mc? ask your daughter
boom, explode on the set like mortar
rambo mode, i’m set for the slaughter
gucci creps, remove that
try stunt and you won’t get your shoes back
who’s that cat for the mic fam, two’s that
true that i bounce on the beat, no blu*tack
p*ssed, chick had to move that
i’m a fiend for a lighty, you knew that
f*ck off, flow’s too skippy
bars for the beat, get burnt in a jiffy
probs ’cause i bounce on the beat like titties
kneecaps under a vest on a fitty
broke, ’cause you invest in a nitty
grove, made in the west where it’s gritty
who’s this yute looking overly eager?
he’ll get wet like a hot latina
mcs try talk about cleaner
wait ’til his head gets chewed like beaver
me sir, i got a fever
‘cah i slay bars, lyrical dealer
i pop off on the set like a nina
what, you can try run hype but i’ve seen ya
scouted, seen ya already
never stop grind ’til i find that belly
haters holding the beats like teddy
i’m a very rude kid and i’m always ready
put me on the beat, it’s a fat song
these niche mcs, they all latch on
when i tell you don’t sleep on me
flow’s dirty like a mattress you macked on
my kicks are fly, no capcom
you’re an actor, isn’t that right tom?
trust me, this is the beat to get hyped on
fight wrong, this is the street they all die on
beats i snipe on
move traps when i ride on
hard like a ride on, get hyped on
any instrumental that’s dank, ask my don
scr*w*ng me? (yeah)
are you f*cking dumb?
did he come for the beef?
he should order some veggie dim sum
m*i*c, money i come
did you say you’re scared of a hood rat?
hold on, how about twenty high punch?
make your dons duss, fight on your ones
one sh*ll, wig off like court’s finished
n*ggas packed up like the end of class
trust me, sick team that will dun your dance
frost dripping from my neck, looking like a shark
lv patterned like a chess board, rare
cream hugged ’round my waist like a chocolate eclair
i don’t care, never looked tatty
you can get a facelift, go and ask dappy
hand on the snake, i’ll clutch a cobra
like a fat man i’ll touch a donut
he tried clock so i took his watch
leaf is like a flat chick, there’s no buts
tryna get chicks but i don’t read ’em
i never get booked ’cause i don’t read ’em
and when it comes to me and you as rappers
it looks kinda odd, we’re not even
excited p*ssy, bait wet
blacked out as i fly, plain jet
they’re all copying my sound like a tape deck
fam i make these rappers bounce, suttin’ like a fake cheque
turf you out your hating block
you fruits are all soft, apricot
i sound like a spanish chef
why’s that? ’cause i’m making gwop
cheese on the table, white bread
your money don’t jump, white men
and if a guy wants to hype, then
he’ll get no ratings from this hype ten
[outro]
show

- aj tracey lyrics

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