Free Bradders - Headie One, Rv, SKAT

Free Bradders

That’s bro from kway before snakes and ladders

We was 15 throwing up gang signs, looking like we’re playing ching chang chana

Bro backing out rammers, finesse a man’s jewels Santana

Then tell big man just back up

Way before J Hus, didn’t like ice in this Fanta

Finesse these broad day chingings, knives just shine in the camera

Years later nothing ain’t changed, pressure these opps and banter

Had one hand on the spin ting and the other there tryna keep balance

Free Bradders

10 toes do road free smoke, love hammers

Couple g packs, do road, M-way smash it

In the hood fishing these shots on the opp like Bradders

Like how many years I been grinding, free my nigga B it’s just timing

Fake yutes in Tottenham not like him, OFB pull up with smoke and diamonds

Long clip, equipped to ride with

No one ain’t into fighting, gang rip it back and just light him

Especially if you don’t like him, Skatty I handle my ting

Free Bradders, bro from early

Before he had single plaits

All he knows is drill and trap, got him in the jailhouse kicking back

I’m on the M-way doing up mileage, M sport whip no hybrid

Cut that pack into slices, the opps ain’t men they’re mices

Why feds wanna grab my bros, free Bradz till he back on road

And he’s free in Tottenham like Danny Rose

No more bag up at 6, or doing up canteen codes

Just fresh home back on the strip, grinding tryna stack this dough

Free Bradders

We was in Niz grabbing shanks up tall but now it’s live corn out hammers

I remember that day in I, 20 inch big made the fuckboy stagger, good in the

hood we can never take bad up

Got a jigga batty ting from the Niz, B got one from the 9 that’s badder

Niggas must really gone mad, feds need to free my bro Brad

I know that them boy there happy, cah nuff ting gang left them boy there sad

Sawn-off dots, handting and rambs, 10 toes, ped, ding-dong with waps

Remember that day it was far from rainy, my man still got splashed

Free Bradders

What you know 'bout putting young gs, in a cab filled with daggers

Old school days, blood on my mums cooking knife, no hammers

Now I bag up the light in cling, still rise up my rusty ting

I had to switch up how I text, before the jakes come like what’s next

We the ones investing in poles, while you chill with bae and hoes

Free Bradz, free Bradz, free Bradz

My aim’s narrow, I just got a shot in Harrow

I just boot like I did it in jail, one hook Jack Sparrow