Puta - Lee Scott, Trellion, Don Silk

I use your face to snap my skateboard in two with

My bad, oh what a cunt I am

I am

Off with his head

Amputate limbs

How‘re you gonna ollie with a prosthetic leg?

My bad, you don’t even skate

Wait, but I can

I’ll 360 kickflip that spliff out your mouth

No doubt, I’m living on the ill side of town

My sniper rifle got a wide angle

Blow off your Supreme 5 panel

How you like me now?

Not much, well it’s mutual

Whoopsie doo

Yo, I’m chilling with the down and outs

Fuck about, get dumb chills more roundabout

I’m on an ox like my brother is

Sea town, catch me loc-ing like lover crip

Your mother wanna suck my dick

Cause a brother Hung like Brotha Lynch

Suck it bitch, I got 1.7 of the hubba bubba crop

It’s a 1−8-7 on this motherfuckin blunt

Shit, I’m funky like the doc

Doggin on your bitch

While you’re rocking Cyberdog, you bitch

Adderall Admiral, Trama-Tramadol

Yeah, I’m speedballin

Was gonna tour with my crew

But I’m detouring

My mother said I need reforming

I just say I need more green, the weed’s moreish

More bitches

Four bitches

Burning church on my shoulder and they’re all Christians

That’s how I’m living

Put some charas under the stamp for my man in prison

-«Puta!»

-«Don't call me puta!»

I’m in a portaloo

Givin' some rich bitch a talkin' to

With a quick spliff and a morning brew

Form a queue

You lack the testicular fortitude to thwart the crew

Someone said «wack» and I thought of you

I was gonna say I’m only messing, but I’m serious now, instead

I’m pawning this glowing gold circle around me head

I’m on that occult shit, like L. Ron Hubbard

I break you down and put you back together with your head on crooked

Dazed and confused, like Jake Holmes

Breaking the rules to stay stoned

Bunk on a late train home, code name Ste Kweng

I didn’t buy a ticket cause me saving for the weekend

Sounds in the headphones stuck in ‘96

In the gaps between tracks I’ll be chatting bout prior stints

But it’s too much on me mind, like the Kinks, then I think

This moolah could have been used for buying drink

Splashing fat on me cold skin frying mince

If I was a religious man I’d know who to blame

Hazardously dangling me Gucci scarf over the flame

No heat in the flat, but fuck giving in

I’m making the most of this, fluorescent bulb flickering

Raving, while I’m waiting for my food to cook

A recipe for disaster you couldn’t find in no stupid book

So don’t even look

Yo

It’s reached fever pitch

We stand out like a paedo at a Bieber gig

Dream a bit

I sip Grey Goose and leave with it, we don’t pay

I turned Scrooge in my old age

You think I’m called Sniff ‘cause of cocaine?

Low flame cooking

No shame jocking up your girl

Cause coke gains pussy in this world, but

(Yo)

Slow it down, so

(Slow)

That’s how we goes down, you’s a

(Hoe)

You wanna do brown?

Let me know

Real cold when I flow, I’m a pro

Quick pro quote, product like wow

Now on with the show

So, me and Trelly in the zone, you get took out

Hit the vault while the Lunarlings look out

-«Puta!»

-«Don't call me puta, cabron!»