Lyrics Verdansk - Dave

Verdansk

It’s nuts out here
(Oi, ayy, write that shit down)
Look
I see a ting that I touched, tell me about talkin' stage, gotta tell her «Don't force it»
Beef man, pepper and salt it, me and RJ gotta pull up, no talkin'
Trap, you ain’t got a rack to your name, my bro brick layin', we don’t know
about Shoreditch
Rental, I never insured it, M25, gotta whip that calmly
Man try beef with my dargy, Warzone ting how I come third party
My little nigga can’t lose that cash, I drop YGs, do it like Kehlani
I don’t rock Gucci or Armani, ST from ST, I can’t
Squash that beef like fruit and barley, still got a one black star like Kwame
Three car convoy in Sutton, my mum got matching whips with Yungen
Should’ve made Shanei hold on suttin' but it never would’v worked 'cause the
girl too stubborn
Young G’s talking my nam on the Ends
Gotta tell a man «Please don’t risk it»
On a right day, man ah just frisk him
On a wrong day, I’m gettin' man airlifted
I’m in Hollywood Hills with a white Rolls Royce
And a one brownin' from Compton
The Lambo parked just in front
Man pull up to the bumper and do it like Konshens
She wanna go LV, no problem
Went for the cheapest bag, that’s nonsense
I took a hundred bags from Barclays bank
No cap, you can go and ask Ellie
That one mine, Bouncing Betty
The bag 4K, like a HD telly
Best believe that I’m back like Nelly
Chest petite with a back like jelly
I’m seein' man send indirects
If you wanna war man then you better be vocal
My right hand got a semi, that’s local
And this Browning, I can’t post on socials
My girl gotta be far from social, I don’t wanna see her at Carni
Four-double-eight in the party, LBC how I nicked the Ferrari
Girls say we’re the littiest batch in South London and, bro, it’s a fact
Airport, we’re going for bants, I hopped out the plane, I ain’t going Verdansk
What you know about telling a 10/10 to keep her clothes on and moving good?
I ain’t on beating or misogyny, it’s mahogany, I got bougie wood
Look, Airbnb with the guys, it’s a white man’s face that I use to book
Chill with the stupid looks or it’s gonna be a kettle that I use to cook
I see a ting that I touched, tell me about talkin' stage, gotta tell her «Don't force it»
Beef man, pepper and salt it, me and RJ gotta pull up, no talkin'
Trap, you ain’t got a rack to your name, my bro brick layin', we don’t know
about Shoreditch
Rental, I never insured it, M25, gotta whip that calmly
Man try beef with my dargy, Warzone ting how I come third party
My little nigga can’t lose that cash, I drop YGs, do it like Kehlani
I don’t rock Gucci or Armani, ST from ST, I can’t
Squash that beef like fruit and barley, still got a one black star like—