Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kell Brook, artist - Grim Sickers. Date of issue: 08.07.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Kell Brook |
| Yeah, stick it on him until he can’t stand up |
| I’ll start raining on his wig like dandruff |
| Round the corner, what’s that? |
| That’s mad stuff |
| Slumped him there, don don should’ve manned up |
| Hundred bagged up, fifty bagged up |
| Black bin bag him, make sure you get bagged up |
| Bedroom bagged up, whole crew bagged up |
| Bet against Grim till your bank gets bankrupt |
| Crew’ll get nyammed up, spin a top boy, that’s another two bags up |
| Swag don’t match up |
| I’m Merky times M, that’s Ghost Writer Catch Up |
| If my bars sound old, go away and come back two weeks in a row, that’s another |
| new batch up |
| Top boy clapped up, neck get grabbed up |
| Chest get stabbed up |
| I was writing bars with the mandem bagged up |
| And don’t question Sickers 'less you got the answer |
| Broken bones, whole body get plaster |
| Man tried to stab me, I stabbed him faster |
| Ting went in like an iPhone charger |
| Put some serious work on your father |
| Lay man down all next to his father |
| Man didn’t know I was a serious barrer |
| Send man way down the road like Farah |
| Fuck that, man ain’t catching Grim like Farah |
| Fuck that, put your hands on your head like Farah |
| Man don’t want no crud, no drama |
| Man wanna say my name in the booth? |
| Dangle man from the tallest roof |
| Better than him? |
| That’s a hundred percent true |
| Realest dons don’t know about you |
| Hundred bags when I jump on the tune |
| Send man’s soul to the fucking moon |
| One-inch punch make your chest plate move |
| Don’t call out my name if Grim don’t trouble you |
| No comeback when the white sheet covers you |
| Take out one, I’ll schedule the other two |
| Take out every single fucking one of you |
| Man wanna know why I talk that crud |
| But my arms still ache from the shovel and mud |
| Arms still ache from the spade and dirt |
| Dig an MC six feet in the earth |
| Funny thing is, could’ve been a lot worse |
| Could’ve been blacked-out in a packed-out church |
| Nan asked me why I don’t go church |
| Just know I sold out to Magnums and herb |
| Leave man bleeding all over the curb |
| Leave man bleeding all over the stairs |
| No comeback 'cause your diss got air |
| Yeah, let me make that clear |
| Yeah, let me make that clearer |
| Took man up with the Shard to Ameera |
| Back off, don’t come one step nearer |
| I’ll put four on your back like Vieira |
| Fuck that, put nine on his back like Shearer |
| Yeah, you wan' talk that reck? |
| You can end up slumped, you can end up dead |
| I’ll be running up steps |
| There’ll be no way out, no right or left |
| Via balcony edge, you best hear what I said |
| Yeah, decapitate heads, left to rot in shed |
| Send a million shells in your back and chest |
| I’ll be bodying man, no arms and legs |
| Bloodbath on steds, real gruesome deaths |
| Bare copper and lead for your unknown death |
| When I speed off bless in the unmarked reg |
| And if you ain’t dead then you’re definitely injured |
| I’ve got the belly, now everybody’s winded |
| Banged and missed, missed him by inches, I’m itching |
| Run up on man like Linford |
| Man are making Christmas |
| Draw for the sharpest tool in the kitchen |
| Caught him, gripsed him, chinged him |
| Picked him up and binned him |
| Man ah mek a man sing, that’s Sir Cliff Richard |
| Couldn’t give a fuck about the weights he’s lifting |
| You’ll get slumped for the girl you’re lipsing |
| Lead on the floor, laid out, floor-kissing |
| Might get found by somebody pissing |
| Might get found by somebody fishing |
| I said fuck that, you’re fucking mad |
| Anything I spray is a hundred Zs |
| Nah, anything I spray is a hundred bags |
| Send man’s soul to the moon and back |
| Intenstines all hanging out on your lap |
| Put some serious work on your dad |
| Lay man down all next to his dad |
| Sickers |