War Mode

Yo, Bugzy Malone, 21, dun' know
(Sound To Your Mind) (Gotcha)

I'm goin' in to war mode
And that means I'll do what the fuck I wanna (yeah)
And I'm on some 'I don't give a fuck who it belongs to' (yeah)
Track star, you wanna see the Lizzy that'll run through
I'm a rap star now, but I'm a don too (deep it)

Not a driller, but I've left man open, leakin'
Terrorist the way I've had man's parents, screamin'
Brandishin' my flicky and the shrubs, steamin'
When I snap, I see red like I'm possessed by a demon

Always been a nigga that can dress clean
Robbin' every day, I would finesse weed
Never knew when I would see my next dream
Cah the nightmares had a nigga stressed

Now they're tellin' me I'm blessed (woo)
But you're listenin' to an ex thief
Loyal for my killies, I will sweat, bleed
Don't cry for me if it's death
Cry for me if I lose the will to hustle and go get P's
Never that (never)
I'm in the Lamborghini with the roof off and Nipseys

Victory lap (wha'?), takin' me back (ah?), to nights in the trap
Watchin' my older puttin' nasty in a wrap
Bag upon the toilet seat 'cause if they burst in flush it (flush)
Add the bakin' soda, let it boil, don't rush it
It's class A you need the balaclava
And if you see feds, hit the fence and use the bushes as a cushion (ha-ha-ha)

It gets 50 when you gettin' dirty money fuckin' with these hood rats
You servin' scumbags, you better pray you run fast (ah)
'Cause guilty means you'll do time you'll never get back
So it's fun and games until you're in a cage

Nobody tells you that jails full of regrets (nah)
I'm on the phone tellin' him
I want the rose gold Richard Millie with the baguettes (ah)
You're loyal to your soil, you think niggas are real
Til' they start sendin' dick pictures over to your ex

And your olders are certified 'til you hit the block
Years later in a C-class Mercedes, and you're mortified
The same nigga that taught you to cook a rock
Told you to bag it up, lookin' like a shop

Independence means you gotta be smart (huh)
These rappers are followin' the leader
I get the new Louis when it's just in, like Bieber (huh)
And now the petty tanks, six-litre (aah)

Before Cali-weed, we had haze (hey)
Ownership is how we get paid
I'm lookin' at mansions, know you niggas don't play
I've got the statue made in Italy like it's a Bolognese, watch this, look

I'm about to sell out the arena in my city (check)
I'm like the Pied Piper, the way they walk with me
And don't listen to a word the papers say
Cah when it's the castle, nobody fucks with me

In the streets, it's chaos like City and United's got a game
Traffic jams and everything, I don't get adrenaline
I just get competitive, everyone's repetitive
Tired of seein' broke niggas, actin' like they're stacked

When their careers half dead already like they're Pete & Bas (wha'?)
It's an automatic, now it's givin' man a heart attack (huh?)
I've had a chart position five years in a row, back-to-back
So if legends live forever, then I guess I'm Peter Pan

I resurrected on 'em like the black Jesus
Jumped down from the cross, and landed on my feet dead center
I used to spend a winter shottin' off boxes from a blender
Now the tour starts November, and we're finishin' December

I've got the Scottish and Irish, pullin' up on boats like they're pirates
Lions and tigers, I came up with riders (yeah)
Any disrespect will decorate your front door with the bottom of our Nikes
You're listenin' to a monarch, I'm British, and I'm proud
Always give my blood, sweat and tears to the crowd
God save the queen, 'cause she's the head of state
I went bangin' on my adversaries with an empty plate

Then I got myself a full chicken with the perinaise (hey)
Pray to the Gods for better days (hey)
Only do it if it gets you paid
Manchester to the death of me, home of the brave (Gotcha) (aah)

This is that Great British shit 'cause I was born here
Learned to kick a ball here
I remember Paul Gascoigne with three lions on his shirt
Lay on the floor with his arms in the air
Just celebratin' the victory of warfare

Greatness runnin' through my veins (aah)
On these cold English streets is where I learned to play the game (yeah)
I learned to break a kilo to 36 28's (okay)
And I'm decapitatin' rappers like I'm fuckin' Henry VIII

Bugzy Malone, 21, dun' know