Ets - Gun Show lyrics

[Verse 1: Ets] E-T-S, man, I move mad pscyho I keep taking man's weight like lypo I see bare washed youts wan' try smoke Till I start dishing out bangs to a guy's throat I move sick for the Ps, tryna find notes I take risks, I ain't really tryna lie low Man down, if I go, grab my guys close My Team Paid, we ain't really tryna die broke And we ain't really tryna die poor I move greaze for the dough, tryna buy more I move grub in the snow, tryna buy mores I got lost in the trap tryna line jawns I've got slags on my dick but it ain't p**n I've got youts on my back, they can hold corn I've got shells on my mind but it ain't corn I've got food in the trap but I'd like more I ain't swiping my card like Tracey Gyal send me cute faces cause they rate me Nike tracky on, grey, not navy Beef me? Chest open like page three Yatties wanna bone me, tell her I'm lazy Gyal wanna text me but I'd rather play FIFs Don't have a wife cuh she say I'm too facety Cuh I wanna do music and make fees I ain't swiping my card like AJ Cash-in-hand, I'm old school like gateways Phone plug, tell him bring me that peng flake Grab that, drop the Lyca, I'm a sensei Bag that, send that way up the M-way Grab slags, tell her give me that peng brain Bad yout way before I had an engage Bad yout way before I had an engage [Verse 2: Lyrical Strally] My initials are double M Spit bars like a 9-double-m Tryna get B-I-G like the Z-double-U Twenty MCs want it I'll send twenty shots, lyrical MAC-10 Don't give me cheek like Loftus I've got forty punchlines like Ets LS-hyphen-S, got too many texts I spit bars for the ravers Tranquilise MCs like ket Don't smoke blem, don't smoke grets Smoke MCs, no regrets Won't see a dappy hat on my head Or my family giving head YGG, West and the North West Not Kanye, that's West And it's not North West Buck Saint in West but it's not Saint West It's tragic Cuh round here, dem man ain't blessed Man tried follow LS, got shegged Group tried follow LS, got shegged MTM don't tolerate bread MTM, ain't one of us dead [Verse 3: Ets] See, I wanna fly out to Valencia Where you man are left back like Gaya Man, I'm still raising shots like Alcacer I hit man in his drive with Maya You can't ever say Ets is a liar You can't ever say Ets ain't fire You can't ever say Ets ain't mashed work Ets done bare shots like cider See, I can f** man's wife like he's Terry And I can still lick shots like Remy See, AJ got the wetter in his right hand But I still use my left like Messi See, I can f** man's wife like he's Terry And I can still lick shots like Remy See, AJ got the wetter in his right hand But I still use my left like Messi [Verse 4: Lyrical Strally] Hmm, it's LS I spit like a 38 special And I'm so special They're looking for me with a speshy But they can't catch Malex, they can't catch Malecky I'm too much like Skeppy and Fekky Always ready like the porridge brekky You'll get wrecked if you're acting recky L Strally ain't got a beard So you don't know my age like Martin's, over Febby I'm a shooter like Ets or Remy Snipe a man like Wesley Pipe your girl, wake up, eat brekky And leave the table messy Not from T but I still move prezi Wanna diss me? I be like oi, steady