Lyrics Crushed - P Money

Crushed

I don’t care if you’re known in Luton
Which kind of badman goes jail for looting?
There weren’t no AKs, weren’t no shooting
He stole a TV, blood that’s stupid
All this talk about you make money
What the hell you doing stealing from Currys?
I don’t wanna hear about «H is gully»
H is a fassy, H is bummy
Blood that’s dead
You’re some wasteman you heard what I said
You too H, I heard about you getting rushed in jail
You pissed your bed
Canteen was peak, manaman couldn’t eat
They took your chips and they poured milk on your head
Shit stained pillows all over your dreads
Any funny business everybody…
«Any funny business, everybody dead»
That’s your lyric right?
That’s what you said
But you got ripped off by Boy Better Know
Ain’t that funny business?
No one’s dead
Just be honest, you’re pissed cause I got you
You shot yourself fam, no one stopped you
How can I take you «serious»?
You let the safest guy in the scene rob you!
Now you’re on tunes with him, that must of hurt
H, inside that must of hurt
That weren’t a round, that was a verse
Bring out the coffin, start up the hearse
H international?
Show me your stamps
Don’t know you or Bossman
Don’t know Prez, don’t know Pabs
They got German whips but they don’t know Dan
Cause them man are not big over there
I know man that live over there
Them man don’t win over there
I made my man quit over there
Cause when manaman clash me, manaman lose
Manaman walked, manaman’s screwed
Manaman left, manaman boo’d
You left with MCs manaman slewed
I was on a hero ting
Ratings you left on a zero ting
Skinny man i had to chief up him
This guy never could of chiefed up Trim
Cause when manaman clashed me, manaman lost
Manaman cried, manaman sobbed
I spoke to Pabs, I spoke to Boss
Sent my condolence, sorry for your loss
About German Whip?
No black windows fam, that’s H
See man driving a 206
I looked at the reg like «I know that plate!»
He don’t kick ball or look like a baller
I see man driving a 206
Who told you that he kicks ball, blood?
Why’s man driving a 206?
«Like… like»
That’s all I ever hear from this bredda, «LIKE»
Sounds like a chick on my Insta, «like»
Talk about German whips all you like
But every time I hear your lyric I’ll be like
He said he had a German whip, so have I
So how come our whips don’t look alike?
Manaman drive whips manaman like?
Oh shut up, that ain’t the whip you like
Blood I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead
I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead
I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead
You’re going too far with this Bloodline rep
Man got an X reg in red
That ain’t a German whip, it’s
I said that ain’t a German whip, it’s French
Seat belts fucked and your gear stick’s dench
Clutch is F’d, petrol’s red
Car full crums, boot is a mess
Winding down the windows with a wrench
WINDING THE WINDOWS DOWN WITH A WRENCH???
How can your back seats feel like a bench?
Used to be skinny, got in your car
Turned the wheel once, came out hench!
«Man said he shots boxes»
Who the fuck said he shots boxes?
Look at him, you think he shots boxes?
Do you know how much a box is?
Knotted up weave, table cloth for a shirt
Holes in his socks and skid marks in his boxers
Do you really think he shots boxes?
You wanna know what he meant boxes?
Blood, he was on about Xboxes
Tvs, microwave, yeah dem boxes
Kettles, foreman grills, yeah dem boxes
He was in Argos stamping on, stamping on
Stamping on boxes
No, we weren’t carrying bodies, just boxes
He was in the warehouse stamping on boxes
That’s what he meant by mashing boxes