Crushed - P Money

I don’t care if you’re known in Luton

Which kind of badman goes jail for looting?

There weren’t no AKs, weren’t no shooting

He stole a TV, blood that’s stupid

All this talk about you make money

What the hell you doing stealing from Currys?

I don’t wanna hear about «H is gully»

H is a fassy, H is bummy

Blood that’s dead

You’re some wasteman you heard what I said

You too H, I heard about you getting rushed in jail

You pissed your bed

Canteen was peak, manaman couldn’t eat

They took your chips and they poured milk on your head

Shit stained pillows all over your dreads

Any funny business everybody…

«Any funny business, everybody dead»

That’s your lyric right?

That’s what you said

But you got ripped off by Boy Better Know

Ain’t that funny business?

No one’s dead

Just be honest, you’re pissed cause I got you

You shot yourself fam, no one stopped you

How can I take you «serious»?

You let the safest guy in the scene rob you!

Now you’re on tunes with him, that must of hurt

H, inside that must of hurt

That weren’t a round, that was a verse

Bring out the coffin, start up the hearse

H international?

Show me your stamps

Don’t know you or Bossman

Don’t know Prez, don’t know Pabs

They got German whips but they don’t know Dan

Cause them man are not big over there

I know man that live over there

Them man don’t win over there

I made my man quit over there

Cause when manaman clash me, manaman lose

Manaman walked, manaman’s screwed

Manaman left, manaman boo’d

You left with MCs manaman slewed

I was on a hero ting

Ratings you left on a zero ting

Skinny man i had to chief up him

This guy never could of chiefed up Trim

Cause when manaman clashed me, manaman lost

Manaman cried, manaman sobbed

I spoke to Pabs, I spoke to Boss

Sent my condolence, sorry for your loss

About German Whip?

No black windows fam, that’s H

See man driving a 206

I looked at the reg like «I know that plate!»

He don’t kick ball or look like a baller

I see man driving a 206

Who told you that he kicks ball, blood?

Why’s man driving a 206?

«Like… like»

That’s all I ever hear from this bredda, «LIKE»

Sounds like a chick on my Insta, «like»

Talk about German whips all you like

But every time I hear your lyric I’ll be like

He said he had a German whip, so have I

So how come our whips don’t look alike?

Manaman drive whips manaman like?

Oh shut up, that ain’t the whip you like

Blood I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead

I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead

I’ve seen the whip you drive, it’s dead

You’re going too far with this Bloodline rep

Man got an X reg in red

That ain’t a German whip, it’s

I said that ain’t a German whip, it’s French

Seat belts fucked and your gear stick’s dench

Clutch is F’d, petrol’s red

Car full crums, boot is a mess

Winding down the windows with a wrench

WINDING THE WINDOWS DOWN WITH A WRENCH???

How can your back seats feel like a bench?

Used to be skinny, got in your car

Turned the wheel once, came out hench!

«Man said he shots boxes»

Who the fuck said he shots boxes?

Look at him, you think he shots boxes?

Do you know how much a box is?

Knotted up weave, table cloth for a shirt

Holes in his socks and skid marks in his boxers

Do you really think he shots boxes?

You wanna know what he meant boxes?

Blood, he was on about Xboxes

Tvs, microwave, yeah dem boxes

Kettles, foreman grills, yeah dem boxes

He was in Argos stamping on, stamping on

Stamping on boxes

No, we weren’t carrying bodies, just boxes

He was in the warehouse stamping on boxes

That’s what he meant by mashing boxes