Hold On - Foreign Beggars

Hold on tight to what you own, cos there’s people like me outside your door

Hold on tight to what you own, cos there’s people like me outside your door

Step in the ring, blaze tracks slay bate twats

Make that train, wait back, spread an 8-track

Spitting out all kind of rhyme with the way that

Make any rapper wanna stop with the late chat

Nobody knows a nigga looking to bring by

You couldn’t even rock a tour with a play back

Foreign beggar fam over run as I take that

Rap Montana, write my name by the train tracks

Kit Kat rappers get bucked and bitch slapped

Crap rap guys, some wanna play flip-flap?

Sit back, coch, chit chatter, where the chick at?

Charge next man Ten Grand for a Tic Tac

Spit down lyric quick fast what a sick track

Ship-wrecked rappers get bucked with a big bat

Kill any mini-man dick with a shit gat

Spill a man’s guts with the face of a pick-axe

Woah?

coming on a bit gotta get a (lick sharp?)

Quick fix, bitch, then did a bit of crack rock

Red-hot rapper, nigga knock him out, he’ll spit raw

Lock up any amateur that wanna come shit talk

Rubba-dub-dub get dumped in the trunk

Armed with a mic and a big bag of punk

Jump up, run amok and then I’ll come with the funk

Make a hall stand up, fuck 'em up from the back to the front

From my earliest pillaging and scheming with mad men

Bad men from all the way from Erith to Camden

Challenging any man who wanna step on a track

And if he’s still talkin' shit I’ll get ready to lamp him

Big Mac rappers get smacked up in tandem

Acting like dons but they’re openly ramping

Jump up in the back of the car like he was strapped in

None of us panic, kill a man with my fat pen

Blud, I ain’t trying to prove nothing, move something

Too many man are left dead for nothing

Get battered up, whacked up, spurred for nothing

Beat down, hurt, or left murked for nothing blad

But thats just how tings were gwaanin

When a man said he’s a bad man from morning

Now wait till Sunday morning, his family’s in church, dressed in black;

mourning

Nobody had a chance to warn him coz he had just been

On stage performing and certain girl-dem had started to swarm him

And after that just sounds quite alarming

One brother said your a chief and yes you can

Tell that im looking beef coz i live around all the depression

On the streets my main stress relief

Bust one, and in your belly

Bust one, and in your teeth

And heap on anyone I’m looking to eat

Cos any idiot could have drawn the gun back

Lick out the barrel and make the gun clap

Me I just step at the mic and I run checks

Give them the eye and I shall return in a comeback

Mr Vulga asked me to guest track

Instead of me telling the man dem to get flat

The manor that I’m living in, yes I rep that

Anything I want in life yes I get that

Disrespect me, get disrespect back

Are you really from the ends blad?

Forget that

Are you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really,

really, really, from the ends blad?

Forget that

Are you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really,

really, really, from the ends blad?

Forget that