D-Block Europe and M Huncho - Back To Back

I'm treatin' the trap like a Winnebago
And I'm feelin' like Huncho's my alter ego
Nothin but neck when I'm at the free throw
Nothin' but facts when I'm on the beat
Rendezvous, I got stopped on the interstate
A pound of Biscotti, that's personal
I guess some people just can't relate
Information, I can't correlate
Clowns on the net and they're talkin' breeze
Quincy knows Huncho just bags and freezes
Used to hit up roulette, lost a couple G's
Invested some money in couple gibs
All these racks coming big like a rack of ribs
There's no common sense 'cause they lack a bit
My plug is Pierre and I'm Lacazette
Early morning, I sell fresh baguettes
I bought my mother some new baguettes
But she ain't proud when I do the most
Let me raise up my glass, I'ma make a toast
Let me raise up my glass, I'ma make a speech
Let me tell you that money can marry you
The face on the note, yeah, it's still a bitch
I sit down and think that I'm not content
I get tempted and I flip a brick
Can't get drawn out, yeah, that's what they wishin' for
Police focused, yeah, that's what they wishin' for
Sit and catchin' some laughs with my brother, woah
Leave the studio, I got another one
I'm tryna make all, smoking all the dope
When I look at these baggies it give me hope
When I look at the studio, it give me hope, uh

My everyday car is a car that I used to rent
I know we rappin' right now but we used to be movie men
Heard there's a brick or a crop in that yard so I'm moving it
Six racks on the wap, I just put it in Lucy's bag
Yeah, baguetties, machetes, the MAC it will ring like confetti
Holding my dick on her pussy, she said she ain't ready
Fucked a bad white girl, her name was Betty (Betty)
Hammer time, sauna, or a pent'
Seven pound on petrol for a badda
Four racks on hat, blow his mind out (brrt)
Mind out, lights out, lights out, lights out, lights out
Off the top of the dome (yeah, yeah)
OT for weeks, mum said "When you coming home?"
Yeah a dog is loyal if you give the dog a bone
Took that bitch in the backseat, tinted car, gave her a bone
Yeah, I can make you moan
Fly you Paris or Rome
I don't answer private call on my phone
So much stress in my dome
Tell 'em jakes leave me alone
Murder gang, no facade, not guilty, that's gang (brrr)
There ain't a wap in the U.K. that you can get that we ain't handled
In the AirBnB, no kickin' Thai, wipin' the side with a flannel
We get less time when the shotguns dismantle

I got the wrist on rose
So much ice round my nose, yeah
I put my bricks on the stove
I put my dick in her throat, yeah
I order my bricks on the phone
Wake up my nigga, he know (yeah, yeah)
My nigga, we never admit
We never admit we involved (uh)
Cup full of codeine, I just sip on this cup, let my problems fly
Spent thousands of nights in the bando, it play with my head and I wonder why
I'm just landin', the time I be walkin' around, I be blendin' in Superdry
How you think I Chanaynay your feet
I was sellin' them things now I'm super fly
Girl, you fly, yeah
Wrist on ice, yeah, yeah
Girl, you fly, yeah
Let me know why, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Written by:
Adam Williams, Bradley Brandon, Jeff LaCroix, M Huncho, Ricky Banton

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Missing Link Music, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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