RM – Westwood Crib Session

RM – Westwood Crib Session Lyrics

Artist: RM
Song: Westwood Crib Session

People know my voice, i ain’t gotta put my name in
The block’s changed, little dons grown, making caine flip
And you know they down to back sticks like stay flizz
Stuck on the same strip where we make that rubber burn

Never mind your enemies, watch out for your brudda first
Never mind your enemies, watch out for your brudda first
Every time i come through, p#ssies know i’m onto
Man can get checked like a mic, no one-two

Dressing like them nuns do, eating like somе good food
Hole so big from the strap, you can look through
Born in the ninеties but i got the eighties flow
You can get sucked like a bogey out a baby’s nose

Make a hard donny disappear like he’s made of smoke
Fours like an alligator, spinning like a death row
From a chest shot, leave a man’s chest broke
Soon as i take off, man are in my rear-view

Last of the greaze coming to a hood near you
Even tyson in his prime can’t stop me
Plus i’m like ken block when i’m in the hot seat
n#gg#s tried to block me, hoes tried to stop me

If i ain’t the hardest out then i’m in the top three
Cah i stick to the trap like a veyron
People think that i’m gon’ forget where i came from
On the same drive for success but i changed seats

Certain man end up in jail tryna break free
With this grenade flow
Cah i grew around ghetto like kano
I thought man was real but they ain’t though

Grew around the same sh#t but we ain’t the same though
Donny got life and he ain’t ever seen court
Holla me if you want a key raw
Come with two triggers in my hand like a pad on a p4

Only certified goons that i ride with
Have you ever had to squeeze while you’re driving?
Forensics tryna find powder by my eyelids
And you know my stick clip bend like a nike tick

I’ma tear down your whole block
Four long but my don cut the nose off
Been on the streets since ’01
You’re the type of likkle man that i make go shop

f#ck violations, we can have it out
Put the work straight in my cheek then i spat it out
True speak, you can die bro
I seen people get stabbed for suttin petty like an iphone

From a place where we run from the old bill
Tryna put me on the wing eating oatmeal
The life that i’m living is so real
My donny got life, he forgot how the roads feel

Find where you trap, man a come from early
Chilling with the opps then you’re gunshot worthy
Box of the haze, feds come, i said “it’s personal”
Shots from the big ting will leave him lying vertical

Big ting can’t fit in my bag properly
Feds asking questions, i said that it’s not me
Feeling like skepta, my n#gg#
I told these likkle pansies they can’t step to gorillas

Free remtrex, for him i will hoo-ride
Six in the whip and i’m listening to goon lyfe
No small ting, this heat’s ten-two-five
I seen a man curl up with my two eyes

I like four-fives but there’s not enough corn in
One call, i can get you shot in the morning
When it’s that time, my n#gg#s don’t do the talking
The rap ting’s dead when i kick the door in

Seen n#gg#s get clapped for a chump change
And when i see feds fam, i look straight
Don fizzy in the kitchen tryna cook weight
My ends turn your trap house to a gun range

I’m screaming “f#ck a snitch”, i don’t like rats
Everybody’s sounding all chiraq
Stab wound to my abs left a n#gg# with a five-pack
Got no time for them shady n#gg#s

Put my dons in the bin, you can’t tame gorillas
And i’ll go clap a fed before i snake my n#gg#s
Might slide through a club with a baby nina
So brudda tell me what you trap for

You’re the type of prick that gives these hoes what they ask for
Two right hands i will clap for
Feds come through the front then i’m heading out the back door
Bare snakes round, got me moving all para

My akh said “inshallah we’re going jannah”
I was bout fifteen, i robbed me a fast porsche
Parked that whip up cause that sh#t had a tracker
Spent four bags on my strap and i got the link off the mali’s

Some of my n#gg#s do moves, some of my n#gg#s move charlie
Don’t try and celebrate in my ends, big skeng lock off the party
If it’s not j force, remtrex i do my dirt with
Big guns, balaclavas and burned wigs

Two head shots and i never learned sh#t
Big suttin, tell them guys to come twerk this
I got a big ting, i can turn a suspect to a victim
Man was out there, nights with the spin ting

Squeeze off, everybody’s ears ringing
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RM Lyrics – Westwood Crib Session

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Release Year: 2017