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Our Time Lyrics[Intro: Klashnekoff]
Shout to my nigga Rapid
[Verse 1]
Yo, fuck the long talk, life too short, get caught short
Find your body outlined in chalk, mind how you walk
There's chickenbait bods, meatwagons filled with pork
Looking to transport your arse to court for half a quartz
You're getting scorched like torch, burners being bought import
Missions get abort, Feds waiting at the airport
CID, armed force, Inspector Morse
Who swore on his life that he' would take back your corpse
For sending coppers to the morgues, shotting green from abroad
Importing weed, horse and repro-fraud
For four years they've been scanning, planning the operation
Patiently waiting for you to get brazen
Catch you in your crib when your calm and sedated
At half five, you sleep, your yard get raided
Goods get confiscated, crops of green get cremated
Breys stripped to the basics
Incarcerated with racist scarfaces
Tell gory stories of wars and past capers
Puff, puff, pass the vapours, spliff wrapped in papers
It's dangerous, but keep your head high like Mr. Vegas
These days are venomous, who can I trust?
When man's getting snuffed over twenty-five bucks
While the witness walk by with their Eyes Wide Shut, it's all fucked
Everynight I cry blood and send one love to George Bush
Mug sealed with a slug from the shadows, what?
My word's bond, women respond like I'm Pierce Brosnan
Pouring me fine white wine mixed with poison
Planning and plotting my downfall with the boysdem
But little did they know I'm incognito up in Croyden
With two buff beanies, one was from Croatia
The other was half-Asian whose dad came from Jamaica
She made the wickedest rice and peas you ever taste uh
But that's a next chapter
Sagas of Klashnekoff, the never ending saga
Parrow Picasso when I put pen to paper
The psychopathic painter paintin' pictures with a razor
Gazing at Alpha-Beta from my highrise skyscraper
In the East Maze Fantasia, where man will erase ya
And digital dan-daddas come strapped with a laser
Like Quasar, feel myself drifting like J-Star
While downloading data from my web of deceit (What?)
Baggin' up my weed (Yeah), while weighin' up my options
Red fibre optics from cocktail concoctions
Twisted like contortion or coppers up in Hoxton
Who had certain black yutes on road shottin' rocks for them
What? You think I've forgotten? (Yeah)
Fuck Sir Paul Condon, your whole force is rotten!
You cunt!
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