Lyrics Hold On - Foreign Beggars

Hold On

Hold on tight to what you own, cos there’s people like me outside your door
Hold on tight to what you own, cos there’s people like me outside your door
Step in the ring, blaze tracks slay bate twats
Make that train, wait back, spread an 8-track
Spitting out all kind of rhyme with the way that
Make any rapper wanna stop with the late chat
Nobody knows a nigga looking to bring by
You couldn’t even rock a tour with a play back
Foreign beggar fam over run as I take that
Rap Montana, write my name by the train tracks
Kit Kat rappers get bucked and bitch slapped
Crap rap guys, some wanna play flip-flap?
Sit back, coch, chit chatter, where the chick at?
Charge next man Ten Grand for a Tic Tac
Spit down lyric quick fast what a sick track
Ship-wrecked rappers get bucked with a big bat
Kill any mini-man dick with a shit gat
Spill a man’s guts with the face of a pick-axe
Woah?
coming on a bit gotta get a (lick sharp?)
Quick fix, bitch, then did a bit of crack rock
Red-hot rapper, nigga knock him out, he’ll spit raw
Lock up any amateur that wanna come shit talk
Rubba-dub-dub get dumped in the trunk
Armed with a mic and a big bag of punk
Jump up, run amok and then I’ll come with the funk
Make a hall stand up, fuck 'em up from the back to the front
From my earliest pillaging and scheming with mad men
Bad men from all the way from Erith to Camden
Challenging any man who wanna step on a track
And if he’s still talkin' shit I’ll get ready to lamp him
Big Mac rappers get smacked up in tandem
Acting like dons but they’re openly ramping
Jump up in the back of the car like he was strapped in
None of us panic, kill a man with my fat pen
Blud, I ain’t trying to prove nothing, move something
Too many man are left dead for nothing
Get battered up, whacked up, spurred for nothing
Beat down, hurt, or left murked for nothing blad
But thats just how tings were gwaanin
When a man said he’s a bad man from morning
Now wait till Sunday morning, his family’s in church, dressed in black;
mourning
Nobody had a chance to warn him coz he had just been
On stage performing and certain girl-dem had started to swarm him
And after that just sounds quite alarming
One brother said your a chief and yes you can
Tell that im looking beef coz i live around all the depression
On the streets my main stress relief
Bust one, and in your belly
Bust one, and in your teeth
And heap on anyone I’m looking to eat
Cos any idiot could have drawn the gun back
Lick out the barrel and make the gun clap
Me I just step at the mic and I run checks
Give them the eye and I shall return in a comeback
Mr Vulga asked me to guest track
Instead of me telling the man dem to get flat
The manor that I’m living in, yes I rep that
Anything I want in life yes I get that
Disrespect me, get disrespect back
Are you really from the ends blad?
Forget that
Are you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really,
really, really, from the ends blad?
Forget that
Are you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really,
really, really, from the ends blad?
Forget that