Krept & Konan – Khalas Lyrics

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[Intro] Yeah, RA
(You know what time it is)
Krept, Tally
Mad ting, sad ting
Been real (maniac, cool)
(My brudda)
Greazy ting
(Play Dirty)
Every fucking time
Ready for it
How many times?
I’ve got dargs that pop off singles for ’em
(Fuck all these youts, gas)

[Verse 1: Krept] Tally the madman
Any MC, I’ll kalash man
Krept, Tally, badman, Afghan
Fuck anyone coming at man, what?
Spin who? Fuck that, man’s on job
Sixteen spun you, sent man shop
Which yout? Come then, bet man flop
None of you mugs can tek man’s spot
Long way from Gipset Tally
No BRITs, no GRAMMYs, Christians, akhis
Kids, no daddies, pissed in alleys
Spliffs and ammi, sticks and ballies
Clips and strallies, rinsing maggies
Lifting fassies, chip from cabbies
Linking baddies, gripsing Abbie
Tits and batty, dicks and fanny
Gyal move slutty, I’m ringing her for the ucky
Cats in Surrey, my niggas still in the gully
Max, no flurry, you niggas thinking it’s funny
Till the rocket’s out the pocket and all up inna your tummy
Where’s all the Charlie you selling up in the party, nigga?
Where’s the Cavalli, your money and the Versace, nigga?
Where’s all your honeys? Say that you get the punani, nigga
Now we getting money, we must be Illuminati
Krept, Tally, deep within the streets, miss him
G, listen, I eat riddims, I’ll keep spinning
Sneak dissing, keep digging, I’ll Meek Mill him
Peak for ’em, keep killing, I’ll reaper ’em
Best in the country, beg someone touch me
Skets wanna suck me, text me for uck, G
Feds on a fuckery, tek ‘way my young G
I don’t give a fuck if Metro trust me
I can’t believe this shit
They compare me to wack MCs, neeky pricks
I’m from that south side era, man are G for dis
That RA gangster grime, that greazy shit
It’s all real
They can’t tek man’s sauce still
Free up Fems, Weeps, Snap, Goddy
Fam, they’re all hill

[Verse 2: RA] RA is R-A-W
You know that, that had the road mad
No metaphor, just smack and know facts
When I clap MACs, it’s bags and dog tags
So don’t rap back, just clap your own back
Yeah, the akh’s back, it’s that, it’s all mad
Way back from Pac-Man to [?] Had that one a moped in a backpack, man
Ride up, jump off the bike and bap-bap
And I still ain’t taking no backchat
Nowadays, man think they’re bad on Snapchat
I’ll back out mad straps and snap off snapbacks
(Kaboom) Cuh when I go to the function
Big hand ting, whip it out like a truncheon
Three .45s like a bus going Junction
Yeah, them man there rap, but they lie about their dumpings
I just know if I let the MAC go
Suttin’s getting fried like a dumpling
And it’s proven
Everybody you see me with, they’re movers
I’m the real deal, they’re YouTubers
I was on smoke, they was on computers
School days, badness, badding up tutors
Riding with hand tings hanging off scooters
Never been a has-been, banging on Judas
Real life shankings, claret on Pumas
Real life cabbaging characters and Lugers
Steel pipe damaging faggots and losers
Real life, managing havoc and rumours
Jail life, mad ting, whacking up shooters
So don’t let me let off
You was on a train, I was on a sweatbox
I was in the rain, you was on your Xbox
Cocaine, tryna network to a next spot
Dem times dere, my cousin caught a next shot
Out in yard, tryna line up a headshot
Flew back home tryna get it by the headlock
I was getting boxes, banging it in Z shots
Then I see a .44 peel back a headtop
Seen a MAC mek a man twist like a dreadlock
Switch it

[Verse 3: Konan] Ain’t top three? That’s an insult
These neeks don’t bang, they ain’t involved
Black bag full of ink notes
PCs had me getting out windows
In banger whips doing petty runs
Got savages that ain’t 21
Nearly got grabbed from the firearms
I was living with Ma’s, now I’m buying yards
Palace to Heath, I’ve got gang in the streets
Free Snapper and Weeps
These rappers are neeks, they ain’t clapping on heat
They’re just rapping on beats
Put a akh in [?] with a passion for beef
Got your slag on her knees
I was chatting to T while I sat in the heat
With crack in my jeans
Wrap scarf or a black mask, wap parked in a cat’s yard
Black heart, never act soft
[?] in a packed dance, better act fast
If that barks, that’s your hat gone
And I was tryna bag plants
Dash past in a cab car
Blacked-out with a fat arse
Splash large when I’m at Shard
Rap star wearing Trapstar
All I see is nerds and fakers
Your Rolex ain’t got papers
Normal weed in a medicine bottle
I don’t wanna hear about flavours
Crack in a [?], rap like a freestyle
I was sixteen with the MAC at Monique’s house
Flat with my feed out, stack in the meanwhile
Neeks on the net, I’m [?] on the rebound
They’re only bad when they login
Think you’re sick till you’re cold in a coffin
Rudeboy like Rihanna
Before all this, I was robbing
For a Kilo Echo Yankee
Bro will Papa Oscar Papa
At your Bravo Oscar Yankee
Put him to Bravo Echo Delta

[Verse 4: Krept] My don’s in Huntercombe, shit’s still active
I want a hundred Ms quick like Gatlin
You would think my G’s from Mozart
Selling Fredo’s had the tings dem rattlin’
All this bread and you think
I never bought no tings for the Gs dem? Blud, don’t even
You’ll see nuttin’ but trackies, TNs
My niggas are able to end your weekend
Too cold
You’re better than who, bro?
I phoned up Abz, he got two bookings
He’s moving too sho
Get my cards out, unlock the Wraithe
I change my suit, I cop some Ace
I took your girl, don’t be so mad
I’d put anything on it, your queen’s a slag
There’s no reversing like a king
When it gets on top ’cause man, I’ll pitch in
Three twos, you’ll hold six when it hits him
Three eights will have man skipping
None of these MCs are levelling
You think these jokers are anything?
Play your cards right, streets are mad, akh
Hold your own or be another blackjack
What, G? Top three niggas, know Krept is
Ain’t old school? Then you probably won’t get this
Madman Femz had it out all reckless
Banger and the mash and he done it with breakfast
Sprayed in the crib, man done it with Westwood
Out of the blue like bruddas in Deptford
Real Artillery, nuttin’ was censored
Locking off raves, man are running through entrance
Got Gs in the ends too
My Gs, we offend too
You ain’t buying no arsenal
Now you’re who the docs need to attend to
Come a long way from me and Snap Capone
Tryna go country
Feds took the whip on a fuckery, left man stranded in Wooly
I could’ve strangled ’em, pussy
You ain’t grabbed no shotties, clapped nobody
Catch no bodies, wrap no Bobby
Not my brudda, don’t @ nobody
She sat pon cocky, no back, no doggy
Dead
Comment on my man’s pics? You’re a beg
Click-clack-blaow, watch niggas go death
Fuck that, right now, nigga, I’m vex
Contract signed, six-figure, no less
Stop holding your fist like Arthur
Like bro ain’t got a ting for the drama
Switchblade get your wig shaved
Believe in your bloodclart barber
Black nigga chilling with corporates
Fuck who’s feeling important
You brag ’bout whips, that’s awkward
Your whip probably cost my insurance
I’ve lost my insanity
Bought a chain, I’ve spent your salary
My darg on savagery
They nicked my chargie for battery
Tally’s back, it can’t be
You just brought back the dark me
You just brought back Tsunami

[Verse 5: R.A.] I’m the wrong one to test
Talk about grime, I’m the don in the flesh
I was carrying grime like a bomb in a vest
Get one out this ting make it launch in your chest
Now run out the gym when I let off the spesh
Kept the streets alive, I hoped for the best
Get the beef alive I cook it to death
Young Gs [?] looking [?] When I come for man they get shook to the death
Cause I’ll lick one man down then look for the best
Spinnin’ in the whip
Spinner on my hip
Sittin’ in the Bimmer, it’s a ringer with a clitch
My darg hit the MAC and have it ringing like a chick
There’s levels to this ting, he’s a killer, you’re a prick
You never put in work so you’re different to my clique
Living in the bits
Switching it with sticks
I know [?] so I got it different on a brick
Winning on the strip
Sinning like a prick
I know a lot of man kept wishing I was [?] It’s different when you’re rich
[?] in the whip
But I weren’t so I had to whip it in a dish
Sitting in a crib, get rid of it in bits
I don’t rate don how he’s living like a snitch
Deep in the water, swimming like a fish
Catch him in a tower block visiting his chick
I make my brudda [?] in the lift
I come from the era where I’m spitting off sticks
Running down paigons and kicking up pricks

[Verse 6: Konan] Young G in a motor (skr)
21 with a poker
If he’s starts talking grease in Portuguese
All you’ll see is Nike hoodies and Gola
If you see the gang, three-seater van
If you ain’t armed you’re gonna need a hand
Hooded up in the corner
You’ll see more than a [?] if I beef a man
No doe so I sold dope on my old phone
[?] in a polo on my old road
No hope, when you go broke all the hoes go
No go, said they don’t go from the postcode
No joke, you can hold smoke [?] [?] Won’t know till you go cold [?] Don’t know if you’ll go home or you won’t go
Hundred deep at Junior Jam
Country show ain’t new to man
157 go on peoples [?] Have you flying off the bus like Superman
You said if it’s on better dial me in
Shots sound like a loud BM
You shoulda saw the kick on the Calibre
There’ll be nothing but bones if the [?] see ’em
These nerds ain’t never done a hard day
I phoned up the plug, said I can’t wait
You had six O’s of the hard ‘cane
I ate three O’s but I half eight
Man talkin’ bout beefin
All I see is man tweeting
Ting from Kilburn said she want children
So you better get on your knees then
Them man are all sheep, and you’re looking at the GOAT
I might pull up in a Lamb, monkey for the coke
I see pigs in my rear, I had cats on my phone
They had my dog on the wing
He done a bird, came home