Lyrics Ghetts – Rider
Text:
Ghetts:
Click clack on ’em
Push a wig back on ’em
Anybody that’s ever let off a.45
I was in a gun range… (When?)
On Sunday
Everyone says
Nobody ain’t ever this accurate!
Marksman!
Don’t believe me? Go and ask them
Hey, you cheeky little bastard
You better really mind who you’re bargin’
Yo blud
Oh you think you’re… hold up
Wait there
I zoom in like a bloodclart close up
Man better know when I come around I got a shank on me or I got something else
I’m like «say that again?
That’s not what you said, you said something else»
You ain’t nothing that, I ain’t ever come across
Lick him with the buckle of the belt!
Why should I be shook?
He ain’t done fuckin’ with himself
I have, that’s why I don’t rate my man
Has he really got something in his side bag?
He just posing, side man
Just walked to my nigga Kyze
Said he don’t know this yout
Me neither
Here’s what comes with the reminder
R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
You, target, head-top, casket
Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
You, target, head-top, casket
Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
Kyze:
Just got the words from Ghetts
Said there’s a couple nerds on the set
I said let me turn on the TEC
Cause I’m from the era where you learn to respect
Nah I ain’t talkin’ ’bout your olders
I’m talkin’ ’bout the real deep rollers
I’m talkin’ ’bout the shotgun loaders
Ryder’s a riddim held the ends on its shoulders
Cause while you was nice on the fence
I was right in the trench with a 9 or a 10
All this, at my own expense
Thinkin’ that this don’t make sense
Look at all the dough in the ends
All these ballers around and they don’t buy skengs
Like dem man
And they don’t pay rent
That’s why I walk around with a face of intent
That’s why I had to flip out on ’em
Jump out the whip and pull the stick out on ’em
No talking, no lip out on them
I eat man’s melon, then spit the pip out on ’em
Till they say I ain’t normal again
Cause a couple O.G’s couldn’t war me again
Look, my little old school friend
Suck your dad, I ain’t touring again
See if you call me that, I might fly one at you
You know it’s not love if I ain’t smiling at you
Stop friending man’s friends and trying (that move)
Don’t fault me for him I ain’t tryin’ that yout
Fuck that yout I’ve had enough of him
Back out the ting, bullets smother him
A whole piece crew come and cover him
.38 spinning, lookin’ like it’s buffering
Ghetts:
R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
You, target, head-top, casket
Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
You, target, head-top, casket
Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
