Talk to Frank
Listen
Right
Bruv I can't believe it
Burned so many zoots nowadays and I just can't breathe it's killing me
And my insides get all fucked up cause of that rough stuff I puff when I drill a beat
It's tough to stop that
So I gotta pop back some of those nice little vitamins
Till I'm hype again
Then I'm thinking, fuck calling Frank
Put him in a ring and I'm fighting him, fighting him
Fighting 10 of these dogs in a night
So fuck these problems, problems
I'm raving to what the DJ's blazing all too often, often
I'll get fucked up when he's playing out tunes, I'mma spit hard
Much like when I'm in a booth building up zoots, you'll hear the tunes of Maksim kick hard
I'm a stallion
I can go all night picking up bags and dabbing them
Putting out lines 'till my minds gone bad again
Look around me I think "this ain't happenin'"
Bruv I'm in a dark state, better call Frank cause I'm past baked
Not long left 'till my mind's gone West and my chest pumps hard and my heart aches
Talk to Frank, tell me what's your problem?
Skip, you've been ringing me far too often
The voices in your head got you shook
This is a bad case cause whatever you took
Was laced with some mind-boggling concoction
You're out of choices and out of options
The line is open, the number's free
Talk to Frank, tell me, what's your problem?
Bruv I can't believe it
I'm doing my best to grip the mic but I can't grip for shite
Cause I can't stop shaking, this ain't right
Feel I've blazed up too many pipes at raves
And I feel as if I might go blind
If I don't write rhymes so I gotta spark up a zoot and write in the booth
Till bars start to hit hard in your mind
In your mind, you'll be messed up with a bit of this stuff
It's so fine, it's so fine
Pen-grade or powder, take your choice and then go high
Then go high, higher than a kite tied up to a bright blue string
When I write these things I should really feel the need to maybe call Frank but I don't, why?
Is it cause I got to remain
Spitting hard on the top like the bars in your brain?
Clearly I'm insane, I'm a psycho
Might spit big hooks that you might know
Try to follow my bars, their hype
I'm killing it fast, so gimme that light
Pass it, roll it, light it, smoke it
So high you know this guy won't survive
Right
Bruv I can't believe it
Burned so many zoots nowadays and I just can't breathe it's killing me
And my insides get all fucked up cause of that rough stuff I puff when I drill a beat
It's tough to stop that
So I gotta pop back some of those nice little vitamins
Till I'm hype again
Then I'm thinking, fuck calling Frank
Put him in a ring and I'm fighting him, fighting him
Fighting 10 of these dogs in a night
So fuck these problems, problems
I'm raving to what the DJ's blazing all too often, often
I'll get fucked up when he's playing out tunes, I'mma spit hard
Much like when I'm in a booth building up zoots, you'll hear the tunes of Maksim kick hard
I'm a stallion
I can go all night picking up bags and dabbing them
Putting out lines 'till my minds gone bad again
Look around me I think "this ain't happenin'"
Bruv I'm in a dark state, better call Frank cause I'm past baked
Not long left 'till my mind's gone West and my chest pumps hard and my heart aches
Talk to Frank, tell me what's your problem?
Skip, you've been ringing me far too often
The voices in your head got you shook
This is a bad case cause whatever you took
Was laced with some mind-boggling concoction
You're out of choices and out of options
The line is open, the number's free
Talk to Frank, tell me, what's your problem?
Bruv I can't believe it
I'm doing my best to grip the mic but I can't grip for shite
Cause I can't stop shaking, this ain't right
Feel I've blazed up too many pipes at raves
And I feel as if I might go blind
If I don't write rhymes so I gotta spark up a zoot and write in the booth
Till bars start to hit hard in your mind
In your mind, you'll be messed up with a bit of this stuff
It's so fine, it's so fine
Pen-grade or powder, take your choice and then go high
Then go high, higher than a kite tied up to a bright blue string
When I write these things I should really feel the need to maybe call Frank but I don't, why?
Is it cause I got to remain
Spitting hard on the top like the bars in your brain?
Clearly I'm insane, I'm a psycho
Might spit big hooks that you might know
Try to follow my bars, their hype
I'm killing it fast, so gimme that light
Pass it, roll it, light it, smoke it
So high you know this guy won't survive
Credits
Writer(s): Max Ezekiel Sweiry, John Hislop
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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