Tunde – Not Guilty Lyrics

Fresh home, buss case
Gangs home, step back
Get dough, push weight
Red notes, I get that
Sent him flying like Jet lag
Bruce Lee kickback spinning like Jet Li
Glee-glee bands ripping off like a Jet ski
Catch me with some Africans and Asians like the red sea
You got a g, I got a g but yours is grilled free
You got a g, I got a g but mines factory

Just like the kettles and ice, everything’s factory
Kettle water and ice, hit it with the maj g
Now the seats full leathers and the spliffs [?]
And I get it with tax and I get it tax free
Eighty five bags for bail and a new taxi
They tried to kill us in that courtroom like New Jack City
Still trapping on bail so the new stacks pretty
Weren’t around in hard times so you can’t chat to me

[Chorus x2]
Six litre whips, seven figure pots
Eight with the gang, nine milly’s bang
Ten litre crops, Mac-11 pops
Twelve in the jury, five in the dock

[Verse 2]
Won’t have time with these chicks cause’ there’s too many thots
One line to each whip cause’ there’s too many dots
One time for my bro’s, kept it stitched in the dock
I got him whipped on the wing and took a piece out the pot
And whipped a fully of the grease in the dots til’ it locked
We let the [?] burst two at a time til’ it stop
LED’s in the grow, that’s the cream of the crop
Then bury stacks in the dirt til’ it sleeps and it rots
Gotta check the AdBlue tire pressure coolant
And the oil level break lights petty tank
That’s a trap boy MOT before we hit the MOT

I fuck with Crips, I fuck with Bloods, Soo-Woo, L-O-C
Putting money over bullshit, that’s MOB
I throw twenty ones and C’s cause’ that’s where I be
Chorlton C-Block, right near the cemetery
[?] Migz, forever in my memory
Nell Lane estate Pitbull, different pedigree
Smoked the chopper on foot, garden trotting [?]
We smoke Broccoli to the brain while’ we run up celery

Trap lines going sick cause’ we got better B
Got Scorp’s a Mac’s, cartel weaponry
Smoke Broccoli to the brain while’ we run up celery
Trap lines going sick cause’ we got better B
Got Scorp’s a Mac’s, cartel weaponry
[Chorus x2]
Six litre whips, seven figure pots
Eight with the gang, nine milly’s bang
Ten litre crops, Mac-11 pops
Twelve in the jury, five in the dock