lirik lagu yungen – f**k them
[chorus: konan]
when fake love goes tru colours show and
they know there’s no f-cking
with my team (my team)
my team (my team)
[verse 1: yungen]
krept and konan put me on and i took that sh-t through the roof
ducking round in that drop-top, blame that sh-t on the goose
if i ever lied in a bar, it’s probably your girl in the truth
yeah i went from selling charlie to radio 1 spitting fire in the booth
got some real motherf-ckers around me, but i never call no names
my big bro taught me one thing, don’t mix the road with the fame
you n-ggas be calling names, keep thinking that i’m a side man
till my circle catch you on the mains and blow off sides when i lines man (ah)
but f-ck that, i went from the road to the stages
me and stryder went “bonjour”, next year i might buy me a sp-ceship
me, i’m from the hood, where those skinny n-ggas are blazers
now it’s skinny jeans and blazers and that sh-t ain’t f-ck my status
i’ve been putting on for them n-ggas, them clowns better keep in check
their debit cards ain’t saying sh-t, without i them man are in debt
i stay scheming for cash dog, you p-ssies ain’t got no rep
so before you call my name, boy go get yourself some respect! i’m out here
[chorus: konan]
when fake love goes tru colours show and
they know there’s no f-cking
with my team (my team)
my team (my team)
when fake love goes tru colours show and
they know there’s no f-cking
with my team (my team)
my team (my team)
[verse 2: krept]
(tally) f-ck them n-ggas!
nah real talk, f-ck them n-ggas!
if you ain’t kone or yung or affiliated
then f-ck you, n-gga!
i can’t stand theses industry dons
somebody i’m due to cause an injury on
i’m sick and tired! think the sick get tireder
ah man krept’s on fire!
foot locker in brixton riots
hungry for this, can’t see what a diet is
i told my driver “lead me to wireless”
when these fake n-ggas say ‘wagwan’ to me
i just sigh, i need a psychiatrist
f-ck your rep!
nah n-gga, n-gga f-ck all dat!
get off my d-ck off, suck on that
grab cash and get your man checked
bragging about your bread and get your bag-get
hating n-ggas, you can suck your mum!
when you know what kinda sl-ts i want
a brown-skinned b-tch with a big back
that’s the hunchback of notre dame
f-ck it i’mma get my roman on
you said you’re fire, n-gga, false alarm
wh0r-s want to come round for an orgy
f-ck tesco’s, my house where the wh0r-s meet
i’m from a place where n-ggas with sticks roll
no computer gangsters
dey’ll hit you with a mac, brains on the windows
now the pc tryna find some info
f-ck with my team turn a yute to false
stamp you out, turn my nikes into louboutins
you already know what the goonies on
if we get bare sh-t for the fruity don
[chorus: konan]
when fake love goes tru colours show and
they know there’s no f-cking
with my team (my team)
my team (my team)
when fake love goes tru colours show and
they know there’s no f-cking
with my team (my team)
my team (my team)
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