Correction Lyrics No Hook 2.0 by PS Hitsquad

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Lyrics

Traphouse vibe

No hook
Tell a man, yo, what's good
Hit up the strip in my Tino's
Did drills in my Adidas fobs
Don't look
We got all of the opps dem shook
Smash that light by night
So you know more food got cooked
Now all the opps dem stressed
Cah none of us man been stretched
Whip that skeng though, a man endo
That is a quick AM
And a word to Snoop
Who the f**k you cheff?
Yo, Deqwan got bored in his arm real quick cah the boy tried to cover his neck
Then got cheffed, dad got cheffed
And all now none of them step
How many times have we lurked with shanks in hands tryna leave a man red
I might put this cutie in Gucci if she holds this skeng (come 'ere)
Criss brownin' with a fat back, come to the zones and bring your friends
I'm in the next space that's kway that's prof
I'm with a peng ting in my hotel room and a peng ting givin' me top
No Van Gogh, man paint man's top
I'm in Pecks with your Laura Croft
Nah I can't flip this flop, no
I swear that the grind don't stop

The opps dem know and the thots dem know
I just shout ching for ball, we all kick ball
You know we ain't pro
I still got a shout face for the boots, brutes
Bruce back out the pumps on Vaux
E9 or S9 with Zone, hitters, ridin' come let's go
On the table shanks or poles
I'm down at the door, bunch of coke
Hotel I'm on floor 3 0
Who else wan' be hero
I am a villain, I ain't no joker (no way)
Life gamble, casino
Fix up their face and back out my poker
Or put toys in a machine though
Dem man are chiefs, I call them Sosas (eergh)
Switch it, I watch a paigon vid, like, I got that paigon chinged
Oh sh*t, bruce got the same 1-2, zoo
We do outrageous things
You ain't in fightin', I ain't on mining
So I don't know what my paigon's is
You done run from the great, grey whip
You would've though they was slaves and sh*t
Oh, I got a snap from ML, but all we talk is wins
Got more bread that I saw this year
After that all I could talk was sins
How many man have I bored this year
I swear to God, man, I've bored and sh*t
How many man have I bored this year
I swear to God, man, I've bored and sh*t

Bare times I've run him down
I don't know how he don't have athlete's feet
They don't wanna meet and greet, but, on socials wanna give cheek
Sawed, send him off tryna break man's heart
Like his girlfriend goes and cheats
On the ride let me take my seat
Dots come old like Bas and Pete
15 inch in jackets
I done did this, I don't need no practice
K2 turned them packets
Two man up we don't need no batches
4-4-2 that's tactics
See all the chest shot, Lord that's classic
Dots same size as a blanket
Stay on gang don't run from gadgets
I done put blades through freshers
And I done see legs do stretchers
I just have to buy that one cap
'Cause I told her I don't send texts
Samurai sword my fetish
One shot make that opp boy perish
Still servin' no tennis, menace
Dem man set aside letters
I ain't ridin' with no satnav
Boy get touched from my GPS
Splash man down with no regrets
Then, leave him all depressed
Duck-duck-goose, take man's food
There's no time to go digest
Look far but I had to redress
Thought we was friends, ching his chest (Judas)

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