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krept & konan - khalas lyrics

[intro]
yeah, ra
(you know what time it is)
krept, tally
mad ting, sad ting
been real (cool, maniac)
(my brudda)
greazy ting
(play dirty)
every f-cking time
ready for it
how many times?
i’ve got dargs that pop off semis for it
(f-ck all these youts, gas)

[verse 1: krept]
tally the madman
any mc, i’ll khalas man
krept, tally, badman, afghan
f-ck anyone coming at man, what?
spin who? f-ck that, man’s on job
sixteen spun you, sent man shop
which yout? come then, bet man flop
none of you mugs can tek man’s spot
long way from gipset tally
no brits, no grammys, christians, akhis
kids, no daddies, p-ssed in alleys
spliffs and ammi, sticks and ballies
clips and strallies, rinsing maggies
lifting f-ssies, chip from cabbies
linking baddies, gripsing abbie
t-ts and batty, d-cks and f-nny
gyal move sl-tty, i’m ringing her for the ucky
cats in surrey, my n-gg-s still in the gully
macs, no flurry, you n-gg-s thinking it’s funny
till the rocket’s out the pocket and all up inna your tummy
where’s all the charlie you selling up in the party, n-gg-?
where’s the cavalli, your money and the versace, n-gg-?
where’s all your honeys? say that you get the punani, n-gg-
now we getting money, we must be illuminati
krept, tally, deep within the streets, miss him
g, listen, i eat riddims, i’ll keep spinning
sneak dissing, keep digging, i’ll meek mill him
peak for ’em, keep k!lling, i’ll reaper him
best in the country, beg someone touch me
skets wanna suck me, text me for uck, g
feds on a f-ckery, tek ‘way my young g
i don’t give a f-ck if metro trust me
i can’t believe this sh-t
they compare me to wack mcs, neeky pr-cks
i’m from that south side era, man are g for dis
that ra gangster grime, that greazy sh-t
it’s all real
they can’t tek man’s sauce still
free up fems, weeps, snap, goddy
fam, they’re all hill

[verse 2: ra]
ra is r-a-w
you know that, that had the road mad
no metaphor, just smack and know facts
when i clap macs, it’s bags and toe tags
so don’t rap back, just clap your own back
yeah, the akh’s back, it’s that, it’s all mad
way back from pac-man to blackjack, man
had that one a moped in a backpack, man
ride up, jump off the bike and bap-bap
and i still ain’t taking no backchat
nowadays, man think they’re bad on snapchat
i’ll back out mad straps and snap off snapbacks
(kaboom) cuh when i go to the function
big hand ting, whip it out like a truncheon
three .45s like a bus going junction
yeah, them man there rap, but they lie about their dumpings
i just know if i let the mac go
suttin’s getting fried like a dumpling
and it’s proven
everybody you see me with, they’re movers
i’m the real deal, they’re youtubers
i was on smoke, they was on computers
school days, badness, badding up tutors
riding with hand tings hanging off scooters
never been a has-been, banging on judas
real life shankings, claret on pumas
real life cabbaging characters and lugers
steel pipe damaging f-ggots and losers
real life, managing havoc and rumours
jail life, mad ting, whacking up shooters
so don’t let me let off
you was on a train, i was on a sweatbox
i was in the rain, you was on your xbox
cocaine, tryna network to a next spot
dem times dere, my cousin caught a neck shot
out in yard, tryna line up a headshot
flew back home tryna get it by the headlock
i was getting boxes, banging it in z shots
then i seen a .44 peel back a headtop
seen a mac mek a man twist like a dreadlock
switch it

[verse 3: konan]
ain’t top three? that’s an insult
these neeks don’t bang, they ain’t involved
black bag full of ink notes
pcs had me getting out windows
in banger whips doing petty runs
got savages that ain’t 21
nearly got grabbed from the firearms
i was living with ma’s, now i’m buying yards
palace to heath, i’ve got gang in the streets
free snapper and weeps
these rappers are neeks, they ain’t clapping on heat
they’re just rapping on beats
got a akh in khamis with a p-ssion for beef
got your slag on her knees
i was chatting to t while i sat in the heat
with crack in my jeans
wrap scarf or a black mask, wap parked in a cat’s yard
black heart, never act soft
if that blast on a jack–rs-
in a packed dance, better act fast
if that barks, that’s your hat gone
and i was tryna bag plants
dash past in a cab car
blacked-out with a fat -rs-
splash large when i’m at shard
rap star wearing trapstar
all i see is nerds and fakers
your rolex ain’t got papers
normal weed in a medicine bottle
i don’t wanna hear about flavours
crack in a b house, rap like a freestyle
i was sixteen with the mac at monique’s house
flat with my feed out, stack in the meanwhile
neeks on the net, i’mma catch on the rebound
they’re only bad when they login
think you’re sick till you’re cold in a coffin
rudeboy like rihanna
before all this, i was robbing
for a kilo echo yankee
bro will papa oscar papa
at your bravo oscar yankee
put him to bravo echo delta

[verse 4: krept]
my don’s in huntercombe, sh-t’s still active
i want a hundred ms quick like gatlin
you would think my g’s from mozart
selling freddos had the tings dem rattlin’
all this bread and you think
i never bought no tings for the gs dem? blud, don’t even
you’ll see nuttin’ but trackies, tns
my n-gg-s are able to end your weekend
too cold
you’re better than who, bro?
i phoned up abz, he got two bookings
he’s moving too sho
get my cards out, unlock the wraithe
i change my suit, i cop some ace
i took your girl, don’t be so mad
i’d put anything on it, your queen’s a slag
there’s no reversing like a king
when it gets on top ’cause man, i’ll pitch in
three twos, you’ll hold six when it hits him
three eights will have man skipping
none of these mcs are levelling
you think these jokers are anything?
play your cards right, streets are mad, akh
hold your own or be another blackjack
what, g? top three n-gg-s, know krept is
ain’t old school? then you probably won’t get this
madman femz had it out all reckless
banger and the mash and he done it with breakfast
sprayed in the crib, man done it with westwood
out of the blue like bruddas in deptford
real artillery, nuttin’ was censored
locking off raves, man are running through entrance
got gs in the ends too
my gs, we offend too
you ain’t buying no -rs-nal
now you’re who the docs need to attend to
come a long way from me and snap capone
tryna go country
feds took the whip on a f-ckery, left man stranded in wooly
i could’ve strangled ’em, p-ssy
you ain’t grabbed no shotties, clapped n-body
catch no bodies, wrap no bobby
not my brudda, don’t @ n-body
she sat pon c-cky, no back, no doggy
dead
comment on my man’s pics? you’re a beg
click-clack-blaow, watch n-gg-s go death
f-ck that, right now, n-gg-, i’m vex
contract signed, six-figure, no less
stop holding your fist like arthur
like bro ain’t got a ting for the drama
switchblade get your wig shaved
believe in your bloodclart barber
black n-gg- chilling with corporates
f-ck who’s feeling important
you brag ’bout whips, that’s awkward
your whip probably cost my insurance
i’ve lost my insanity
bought a chain, i’ve spent your salary
my darg on savagery
they nicked my chargie for battery
tally’s back, it can’t be
you just brought back the dark me
you just brought back tsunami

[verse 5: r.a.]
i’m the wrong one to test
talk about grime, i’m the don in the flesh
i was carrying grime like a bomb in a vest
get one out this ting make it launch in your chest
now run out the gym when i let off the spesh
kept the streets alive, i hoped for the best
get the beef alive i cook it to death
the young gs will ride they’re looking to rev
when i come for man, they get shook to the death
cause i’ll lick one man down, then look for the rest
spinnin’ in the whip, spinner on my hip
sittin’ in the bimmer, it’s a ringer with a cl-tch
my darg hit the mac-11 ringing like a chick
there’s levels to this ting, he’s a k!ller, you’re a pr-ck
you never put in work so you’re different to my clique
living in the bits, fidgeting with sticks
i know den so i got it different on a brick
winning on the strip, sinning like a pr-ck
i know a lot of man kept wishing i was pitched
it’s different when you’re rich, legit in the whip
but i weren’t so i had to whip it in a dish
sitting in a crib, get rid of it in bits
i don’t rate don how he’s living like a snitch
deep in the water, swimming like a fish
catch him in a tower block visiting his chick
i make my brudda rez wig him in the lift
i come from the era where i’m spitting off sticks
running down paigons and kicking up pr-cks

[verse 6: konan]
young g in a motor (skr)
21 with a poker
if he starts talking grease in portuguese
all you’ll see is nike hoodies and gola
if you see the gang, three-seater van
if you ain’t armed, you’re gonna need a hand
hooded up in the corner
you’ll see more than a borer if i beef a man
no dough so i sold dope on my old phone
tote dro in a polo on my old road
no hope, when you go broke all the hoes go
no go, said they don’t go from the postcode
no joke, you can hold smoke, get your clothes soaked
those pokes when you got close to the coat holes
won’t know till you go cold and your soul goes
don’t know if you’ll go home or you won’t go
hundred deep at junior jam
country show ain’t new to man
157 going people’s day
have you flying off the bus like superman
you said if it’s on, better dial me in
shots sound like a loud bm
you shoulda saw the kick on the calibre
there’ll be nothing but bones if the cal see ‘im
these nerds ain’t never done a hard day
i phoned up the plug, said i can’t wait
you had six os of the hard ‘cane
i ate three os but i half eight
man talkin’ bout beefin
all i see is man tweeting
ting from kilburn said she want children
so you better get on your knees then
them man are all sheep
and you’re looking at the goat
i might pull up in a lamb
monkey for the coat
i see pigs in my rear
i had cats on my phone
they had my dog on the wing
he done a bird, came home

[outro: ra]
khalas

- krept konan lyrics

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