Lyrics The Blow Back - Giggs, Stormzy, Dubz

The Blow Back

Get banged from the blow back
Man better show that cheese, bang bang nigga, Kodak
Man says it’s cold outside, but man’s prang, where my coat at?
Man slang, where’s the coke at?
Man wanna hang themselves, still bang, where the rope at?
Need ice for my drink, she ran, brang me a coke pack
Tell a nigga take notes, I made him hand me the notepad
Shit popped to bananas, I might pop to Bahamas
Man’s living that life, I’m going shops in pajamas
I leave pops in apartments, I might pop to the barbers
I just stopped at the marge’s and dropped Tyler and Marcus
I just jumped out of bed, I heard a knock from the gardeners
I said no, not today, and what’s good?
You’ve alarmed us
Captains and corporals, man rock with commanders
I could’ve rocked the Armani, but man dropped the Gabbana’s
Back to the OG rap, scrap that acoustic
Back to the OG trap, yeah that kind of music
So take all your hats off, slap them at Whoo Kid
Back with them two packs, yeah, that nigga new BIG
Yeah I’m back nigga, new Giggs
Anyone can get it, old boys or the new kids
Yeah, I’m back and exclusive, yeah, I’m back and abusive
I used to mack with the burger, but now I’m back for the sushi
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Yo, used to run around with a whole lot of food
Ain’t got to trap, niggas know what I do
Sitting in my yard with a big boy spliff
And a portion of chips and a phone full of nudes
Scumbag ting, honey, I’m sick
Rudeboy, I can get gully like Blittz
Rule number five, man, you know we never mention the price
And I treat that money like Flipz
And I swear down, niggas always lying in their rap hooks
Probably couldn’t tell me how a strap looks
Bro 6ix got the tunes on his hard drive
So I tell him put the riddim on my Macbook
Yeah, they love it when I go in on a grime beat
They love it when I do it cause I rap good
Man, I never used to have no trainers
Now I’ve got bare, that’s word to my black foot
Shutdown Twitter, my nigga, it’s peak
Doing like a million views in a week
You ain’t really fucking with the powers I’ve reached
Brothers in the church like «young nigga preach»
I ain’t even got to try prove what I’m on
Name’s Big Mike, I do what I want
Dem man talk 'bout the work that they mash
But the truth is dem man usually front
So I fuck up the game on a psycho ting
Don boy there on a giro ting
Coco Pops and a morning spliff
Two slices of toast on a Milo ting
Pen in my right hand, Biro ting
Big whips, stylo ting
Dem man are likkle like a micro SIM
Some wasteman Toyota Aygo ting
I go sick, nigga, I go in
Sounds of the skeng on a Spyro ting
Fire on the high road, fire on the back street
Anywhere I go, it’s a pyro ting
Girls go loose when the lights go dim
Might go Keyshia’s, might go Kim’s
I could go Charlie Sloth or go Tim’s
Go to the barber shop and get trims
Then I tell man you can miss me with the cyber-chat
Cause niggas just talk but I’m fine with that
And man wanna war on my Instagram
You see, I’d love to but I’ve got a flight to catch
Hashtag merky, I’d die for that
The peng tings want Big Mikey back
Saw my mandem blow and run the game
I thank God that I was alive for that, like
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Rap titan, black Tyson
Strategizing with niggas I’m categorized in
A bag of pies in the kitchen, go grab a slice, then
Got consignment from bruddas who seek asylum
I’m the fireman, fuck, I need a siren
Put an instrument to your neck, just like a violin
Them niggas lying, them flows, they didn’t sign them
That dope ain’t got them dialling, their sofas ain’t reclining
I’m like in the 90s
Make your baby mother go shop in her nightie
No soft shit, just pain here
Man mosh pits like rock gigs
Damn, watch Giggs, this ain’t fair
Man drop kids like daycare
Man shot shit, man shape here
Man got digis, wait here
Got Rizlas, wait here
Got deliverers, wait here
Move over when I change gear
I’m like Rudolph nigga, I’ll rain, dear
Just two of my niggas in the rer-ter
Beat gargoyle, sweets hard-boiled
These neeks can’t toil
Why?
My Gs are loyal
Not a baller but a brudda makes calm coil
Got plants in soil, plus I dance in oil
And the buj is running clean off of France’s foil
Mr Officer, no comment is the answer for you
And the buj is running clean off of France’s foil
Mr Officer, no comment is the answer for you