P Money - ROAD RAGE lyrics

[Intro] Yeah JDZMedia, ROAD RAGE business P Money, Money man pon mic Live & Direct the album, out November 25th Yo OGs, yo [Verse] When I run up in the yard my man was like "huh?" Box in the mouth blud, what d'ya you mean huh? Asked if he knows who I am, he said "na" Box in the mouth blud, what d'ya you mean na? Friday knicked, Saturday I got charged Looked at my solicitor, what d'ya mean charged? Told him grab that witness fast Book a flight same night, business cla** I used to reload a ni-nine BAR Now I get reloads of the ninth bar I'm bringing twenty man Eskimo Dance And I'll cancel the show, what do you mean I can't? Ten out of ten, had 'em all like rah Man's big in U.K. and he's ma**ive in Prague [?] the set, oh God Live on mic, you know who's in charge Drawn, shotgun sticking out the bush like a thorn Car chase looking like a scene from Bourne Two shots at the whip, whole car [?] Girl chose man, not been with corn But I still squash man's beef with corn Man's freezing like a Winter's morn' Teach man-a-man about final form If my chain ever got torn Next morn, somebody's mum's gotta mourn [?] under my tee, man's warm Not even man with me is getting warned Dup man down in the cold or warm Bare bystanders pressing their horn Everybody said they were gonna back Shaun Then watched me f** the p**y up like p**n Man have been out there, man have been gone Ever since D Double did a riddim, I'm on I've been rocking MA strum all year and I've still got jackets I ain't even worn You won't ever see me fall asleep with a sket, I'm out of that house as soon as I yawn Tell the king, P Money ain't no pawn I'll check one of her mates next morn' Hey guys, 2017, can we stop these lies All of this op talk, nobody's died Starting to wonder about both sides One sec, lemme say what I've realised No one's hitting no one, so all you MCs are spitting 'bout the guns you've skied Aim of the year and say that you tried Ha, I can tell you're a fry up guy I don't mean bacon, sausages, eggs, I mean every morning your girl looks fried About she's nice, swear on her life Imagine next day when you hear that she died Now you're hugging up her mum at the funeral, proper acting like you don't know why Can't blame me, you're the badman guy Lying to yourself, dickhead guy About Lord of the Mics, dickhead guy Dickhead, I hate this dickhead so much I had to call man a dickhead twice Getting on my nerves 'cause your girl can't cook, she thinks she's Mel B or Beckham's wife Dickhead, she ain't got a clue about Spice I don't ever wanna see her make rice You're talking like you won't get leng Father leng, brudda leng All your bredrins and your girlfriend leng Her friends leng, their friends leng Everyone knows I'm the master with leng But when her friends come and I get knicked, I'll be scratching my head like "Huh, what's leng?" "Say that again, sorry Sir, what's leng?" Back out on bail like yeah what now You're gonna get a phonecall, two seconds into the convo you be like what now? "P Moneys outside studio now!" See me outside, oh sh** what then Otherwise might do a Kanye Don't wanna get spun by MCs I will drive by MCs Driveby MCs I'll switch it up and Shook Night MCs Lord of the Mics