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lirik lagu longthorne freestyle – pete & bas

pete & bas * longhtorne freestyle

[verse 1: pete]
white hot stepper
drippin’ in black leather
heat stay tucked, never mind cold weather
bang whenever, your salt get peppered
sight get turned black and white like checkers
blacks and whites in the batch and it’s two*tone suits
on the boys black belts like judo
get slapped down, flat, no uno
feds out, guessin’ who done it just like cluedo

[verse 2: bas]
shotgun pressеd on the chest for the kick*back
chat sh*t, gеt boxed up like a tic*tac
i fill a feller up with a big mac, l!ck shots
belly gets split like six pack
i’m in the fast lane, chicks in the back on the bubble with the chardonnay
i’m made it through the dark days
phantom, lookin’ at the roof you can stargaze

[verse 3: pete]
bight lights pingin’ off the watch cos it’s diamond
tick*tock, clock him with impeccable timing
hop in the whip at the first sight of sirens
back to the pub, vod sod with the lime in
fill another cup, yeah, let me sink that
home run, knock him out the park when i swing bats
split him in the middle like a kitkat
spliff rolled, drink poured. lord, can i kick back
[verse 4: bas]
kick back doesn’t work well with the work ethic
i’ve been through the dirt and i learnt lessons
went from a dinger with the dents in, now i got vents in the bonnet and it’s pearlescent
skirt in the dark like a wiccan, ripe for the pickin’, fried like a chicken
he could have been alive but he’s kickin’
the bucket, down to the bone, finger l!ckin’

[verse 5: pete]
breakin’ the plates on the face of a chump, then i’m breakin’ his bread and i’m takin’ a chunk
i ain’t never leave a trace, cos i did him up freehand
gloves on, they ain’t gettin’ prints off of these hands
meat and veg on a platter, the wads got thicker then the belly got fatter
when the feds come knockin’ at the door for the same old
i’mma just knock him out, flat, no chatter

[verse 6: bas]
double chuffin’ a blunt, chuggin’ the bombay, john wayne gate when i’m steppin’ on the runway
six shot, cut down winnie for the gun play
pray for my sins in the church on a sunday
spill a man’s beans, i’m a drunk chef
close*cut shaving his dome like a monk’s head
bloodshed, taste for the flesh like i’m undead, sleep best when i’m locked up in a bunk bed

[verse 7: pete]
hop, skip and a jump, pass the pump
ch*ch*ch*ch*bow!
let his body slump in the pub garden
sit and finish me guinness, “top of the mornin'”
the first flight home then i’m gone and i’m laughin’
smilin’ and creasin’, he’s folded and leakin’
i’ve tried to control him, i ought to delete him
alive in the morning, and dead by the evening
i’m takin’ him home, cos the pigs need feeding
[verse 8: bas]
glide when i walk, make money when i talk
no time for the pork, outlined in the chalk
white lines on the board, if you need it, you call me
three for an hundred, same old story
450 chopped by the pound
slapped in the wraps, and that’s fifteen grand
fifteen large for the longhtorne shotgun i shot from that’s an expensive round

nine*one

[outro]

- pete bas

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