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harlem spartans – south london (remix) lyrics

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[hook: mizormac]
let’s take it back to south london where gangsters bop through them dungeons
it’s harlem, slash, 300 where kuku don’t care ’bout numbers, there’s gunmen, there’s hunters, got chocolate’s shaking their b-mpers (ay, ay, kuku) x2

[verse 1: oboy]
i really bother with them man
bro tryna drop me a boss
(big fish)
i ain’t tryin’ to give man one
man get splash ‘till the boy them come
(ching, ching, ching)
they were tryna rave that day
we were trying to spoil mans fun
them man claim that they’re active
them man there just punks (some neeks)
thought he could fist fight me
man got his forehead bust
cut into the prince, better watch your head back cuz
might hear the 4 just buss
you don’t wanna see little gface backing out swords and stuff
(no way, no way)
i step with ku’s but i linked with spartans
i beg man pardon, sa done go out there and clart them, f-ck the opps man they love talking
run a man down on my ones, run a man down with bis, kennington’s really on obbo, cuh we taking the p-ss
run a man down on my ones, run a man down with bis, kennington’s really on obbo, cuh we taking the p-ss

[verse 2: mizormac]
m-mizor, back out my ting who’s realer
hs hot step or dinger, silent skeng, dot dot or chinger riding, stroll with a bore what’s thinner (don’t run)
everyone gotta talk for a n-gg-
he ain’t this, he ain’t that, he ain’t with her i love life when they don’t know nothing, late night juggin’ im runnin’ to skrilla
his gun don’t bun he ain’t a driller
he ain’t on, done none, dumb n-gg-
talk hard or spin up, spartan hitta, run man down, who’s realer
bop back to my block hs, so i trap get bread, man peddling peds
or in bp with hex, hackz, smarko, anko and kess
everyone wanna be gm’s ‘till real men lurk around your whole ends
and you see aydee no vest, he traps love serving stuff off the ends (trap, trap)
1 with 2 peds, bro be on the a after 10
max, splash man up like who’s next
latz, do him foul so no ref
bis kick the pr-ck and got cheffed
bellz kick sh-lls in his back and ran out his chest, now who’s next
latz, do him foul so no ref
bis kick the pr-ck and got cheffed
bellz kick sh-lls in his back and ran out his chest, now who’s next
(bang, bang, bang, bang)

[verse 3: bis]
it’s sparta, stepped in the place have everyone screaming harlem harlem (free harlem)
don’t come ‘round (?), like simba guarding my block
rise up make guys drop
run off crash don’t ride off
treat beef like dinner, winner
so you know we white wash
repercussion like sunday dinner, ain’t no matter, it gon’ happen
me and bros dem step no swagger, peng ting 8 but got no face
just a blacked out man on a cam
300 splash and mash, rap and bang
ain’t no frauds in the can but samurai jack with man
you can get all that sam (bang)
or naghz mad max
3 up loski, sa and sav
and fam fam, trip up drop and get splashed
im with gg, bello and we gon ferb
we set trends, thats word on the curb
so she wanna know bout t money on the snap thats ty_hef (add up)
on the ride with gang spot opps, they run, who’s next?
whats good? whos on? (who’s next)
she ain’t on but she brown and peng
she want with a spartan she needs (?)
look
differently known by feds
grab hostiles and they wet their beds
she too good to be bad but princess still give neck

[verse 4: zico]
6 in the 6 and it’s spinning
gotta kick it, like tryna make it home for the news
need a big round belly like teddy straight ring ring trap first stack (?)
2 man on a 1 2, dealing it, sa and miz thats a diligent deuce
us spartans racking up views
see a opp at a spot still grabbing that yute
1 van, 2 man, 2 serious weapons, thats serious stepping
no trips off ends trekking, like how did i end up in reading
chilling in the t that’s smokey settings
smoke green til the smells in my bredrins
gotta chop rocks cause the prof’ was tempting
3 the fam gotta 3 the (?)
man just mash this beef get bread
violate, f-ck that hes on deck
f-ck feds, f-ck this, 3 my friends (free them)
i ride for my bro til the end
darling in was tryna be relevant
‘till i hit a 6 figure stack i ain’t settling
judge on my case talking about evidence
tell them nothing ’bout kenningtons residents

[hook: mizormac]
let’s take it back to south london where gangsters bop through them dungeons
it’s harlem, slash, 300 where kuku don’t care ’bout numbers, there’s gunmen, there’s hunters, got chocolate’s shaking their b-mpers (ay, ay, kuku) x3