CGM - My Hittaz (feat. M’Skum, JDF, Digga D) lyrics

Fuck the police, try lock up my friends
3 got locked for a M
Knife work or I back that skeng

Like skrr up on the 12
I'm really tryna do my cousin
He said that he's onto the 10
Rude boy, man you must be bluffin'
Rude boy, man you must be bluffin'
I'll skrr up on the 12
I'm really tryna do my cousin
Lock skengs on peds, man it's risky
Skengs on peds, been doin' my trips
Man I take it HR or City
They scream 12 over 10
But they're hashtag way too bitchy
And Digga D done said
That the works in West did Geezy
Trap, trap, cos I need them racks
I was up in them flats, late nights
Distributing them packs
Cos I needed them stacks
Cos I needed them racks
I trap, trap, trap, in and out of them flats
Like I ready donе said opp block settings
I'mma take it therе on a 1-2's ped
(Wizz, Wizz) buck up with them
Jump off gang, man I ching him in his chest
Oh shit, guess what
That's his hoodie or his t-shirt drenched
That's his hoodie or his t-shirt drenched
Trap, trap, cos I need them racks
Not dro, flip packs

Scored the most on my friends, like when?
I give it to dem
They used to come, that was qway back then
Now they think twice when they
Come to the ends
Cah most of the mandem invest in skengs
Can't ride on 11 or ride on 10
Pinocchio nose
Somebody might dead when that 1 get kwenged
Little man wan' trap, so he gon' get hired
Don't fuck up my prof', get fired
Don't serve that cat if you don't know dem
Cah they might be wired
Man's machine coming with lead
Misch and mash for the bread
This grey ting's way too fast
Bitch, pull up your drawers, I only want head
Man put dick down in her neck-neck
Bore tongue, that's the best
Ejaculate in her mouth
Or pull out, ejaculate on her breast
Blood, we the maddest in West
Skengs in whips or skengs on peds
No wheels, then bop with the mash with ments
MK style, don't hop that fence
Cut through the 9 if an M move 6
Bitch, don't get caught on a mix
Slap it in the car, don't care who get's hit
You run nuff quick so I smashed his whip

2 in the dots but the ching chong here
Just incase the fryer jams
Roll on your block and hold shit down
Like a fucking fireman
On the 10 side, where man hang
Ching chong, ching man down to the sides
If he fucks with me or gang
Roll on your strip
Corn in the whip, red like Bus Hill
Wine down the tints
Empty the clips 'til the clips got nothin'
Them man, they're chatting that shit
When they know themselves
Cah they ain't on nothin'
Like, talkin' hella smoke on the net
Someone tell them clowns, stop bluffin'
Sams on the ride and the 2 go chop right now
I swear it's nuts
On the opp block tryna pop shots
Make a head top right, and I swear it's nuts
Been on the glide, push bikes
With the guys dot dot, tryna corn man up
Tryna leave them man there, rubbed
On the opp block, it gets nuts