The Old Estate - Pete & Bas, M24

Still living on the old estate

Even though it’s hot

Not for the opps

I’m talking the fucking cops (jakes)

Local shops, I did it all bait at their local shops

Main bricks hid a thing on my waist

What you know about a local bop

Are you widdit or not

I did it, skidded I’m off

In the trap making a prof of Charlie

Now I’m in the booth like Charlie sloth

(Fire in the booth)

I got my Rollie on, take that Carti off

She gave me sloppy slop, she a narty thot

When I let that bang, it ain’t a party pop

Yeah they know my face

They know my name, they know my spot

Yeah they know where we hang

But they don’t say I call it blot

Cos they know what’s good for their health

They don’t wanna end up lost

I gotta keep working, working

'Cos I don’t wanna end up lost

The packs got sold

And I got more than paid

Dragon pull off the L

You know I got more than waved (high as fuck)

Shave shave, swing it

Tryna ching it

Approach with caution

Cause you might just end up swinging

Look, (come on then) The old boys winning

He’s giving lip then I might just chin him

Grab the wheel then the axel’s spinning

I’ve been in this game from my hairline thinning (it ain’t no joke)

Countless drillings

Blood’s still thicker, drink keeps spilling (yeah)

Pouring a pint on a Friday night, we’re them old school villains (oh yeahhh)

Couple yanks try biting the UK style but that’s fine, it’s blessed

I can’t dodge no bullets, I wrap my chest in a Kevlar vest (yeah)

Got an Arsenal down in south, got a pig farm out in west

So just drop one text, fly down the M25 no stress

Yeah you know me son, you know my face, you know my status (you know my status)

So shut your mouth before I put your face on the front of the papers (yeah)

You got my number

I’ve got the deals and I’ve got them flavours (nice)

Got a grow next door

You know I ain’t got no neighbours (Nah)

I’m a local hero

And I’m talk of the town

I’m known to the gavers

And they’ve been poking around

I had ditch that phone and I chucked that bing in the back of the rover

Never pulled over, foot flat down I can’t drive straight 'cos I ain’t that sober

I’m a lovely geeza

But I’m a violent man

I cook rocks in pots

And smash heads with pans

Knock knock, who’s there

I came to kick your front door down

I go Jackie chan

Ping pang pow, I laid a man down

Working the block like clockwork

Out in the sticks with dust in a pot

Like Gordon ram in a car

That’s another man rolled in a fag

Got smoked

I’m moving wreckless

Grab that man by the necklace

Phone got robbed for the line

(Hello)

Texting his number, like look call this one next time

I came from dirt and it all got dirty

30s 2 2s and 4 4s

Make cash in a burnt out box in Brixton

And I make big but I still want more

More time on the roadside meant more moular, how could a man just let that go

Put in the work and the packs got sold on a mobile phone

Get rolled in a fag, get poured in a pint, get sent back home in a black bin bag

Shoulda just left it, shoulda gone walkies but big Bas brought 2 toe tags

Both hands on her back when I smash it

We don’t make love we make magic

She was speaking Spanish

Got me singing love songs in traffic