Lyrics Church - 67, LD, Dimzy

Church

Jail time had me doing hella planning
Smoking amm, watching pure TV
Had me screaming out «Free Max Branning»
That’s spice and bits and draws
Packs of am and TECs on the landing
I gotta lick bones on a Sunday
I re-up at church, it’s madting sadting
Still I’ve gotta pray for my sins
I’ve done a lot of dirt but I’m innocent
Chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 6 to 3
Man I pray I don’t pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I’m tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental
Treating our cell like the gym
Thameside A with bare amnesia with Benny
Glove tryna buss my door, saying tone it down cause your cell too smelly
Let me roll this burn
Kick back, sip tea, watch telly
Skinny motherfucker, one day in the gym got me feeling hench already
I see a man so low, he’s tryna swap anything for a brekky
And the opps don’t leave their wing, hella funny man coming like Jim Carrey
Gang rich gang, tryna make a new plan, and I drink Hooch like Henney
I bang, rich gang, tryna make a new plan, and I drink Hooch like Henney
Free Mental
Our opp got got so they threw him in jail
Just the other day, we was whipping in the kettle
Bare Drizzy Drake in the cell
Two incense sticks get lit up, bare amnes' in the cell
Two incense sticks get lit up, bare amnes' in the cell
Jail time had me doing hella planning
Smoking amm, watching pure TV
Had me screaming out «Free Max Branning»
That’s spice and bits and draws
Packs of am and TECs on the landing
I gotta lick bones on a Sunday
I re-up at church, it’s madting sadting
Still I’ve gotta pray for my sins
I’ve done a lot of dirt but I’m innocent
Chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 6 to 3
Man I pray I don’t pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I’m tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental
Treating our cell like the gym
Stepped out on violence
I’ve got beef with neeks and Trident
See man run so we sound that drum
Bet he thought he was sliding
I gotta stay low from the siren
Cos I got that thing on me like I ain’t breaching my license
Bro go fiddle with the mash so much you think he was typing
Send P’s to the guys in jail tell them that there’s no point writing
Tryna stay low from the feds and they tryna bait out where I’m hiding
Pull up in a stolen truck, hear thunder see lightning
That shit’s exciting
The whole squad done obbo
Feds make squad feel famous wherever they see us they follow
They don’t really like how I’m living
Smoke niggas get money’s the obbo
Reload square after square, like I don’t know about obbo
Skid round tryna serve man a hollow
Jail time had me doing hella planning
Smoking amm, watching pure TV
Had me screaming out «Free Max Branning»
That’s spice and bits and draws
Packs of am and TECs on the landing
I gotta lick bones on a Sunday
I re-up at church, it’s madting sadting
Still I’ve gotta pray for my sins
I’ve done a lot of dirt but I’m innocent
Chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 6 to 3
Man I pray I don’t pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I’m tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental
Treating our cell like the gym