Practice Hours (Freestyle)

Practice Hours – Devlin & Dogzilla [Intro: Devlin] Yeah it’s Devlin, OT, Devs, Dogzilla It’s real, Practice Hours, OutTake everyone S'all real, OutTake the OT fan, mazy Yeah, yeah, yeah [Verse 1: Devlin] It’s OT on top and OutTaking whatever you got and whatever you’re not And nah, I don’t care if you’re heavy or not And I’ll be merking your gang if you’re ready or not Yeah, it’s OT, our town and our time Fuck these mic men cos now it’s our grind And what you know about the pain in our life Rude boy, what you know about the strength to survive And when I come through its eye for an eye And if you think that I’m black then you’re wrong cos I’m white Prowl like a fox in the night, OT, we’ve got our cocks in your wife Come through ready to box up with a knife You don’t need to see Glamour and Shotz taking your life And Dogzilla kidnaps your wife You don’t want OT to call strife [Verse 2: Dogzilla] OT, we're backing, we're packing, no slacking, we're stacking We're booting those hits for your clique OT, we're moving, improving, assuming that You can bounce back on my shit I’m clutching my gun and you’re stunning, you’re running I thought you was a gun man in your bits We’re coming, we're coming, the best, click click Your first album constant track shit Chittering, chattering, your shit will flop Shattering, battering your content I’m slaying them, spraying them, Devlin slaps them Stacks them, packs them, puts shit on eBay Eshay, you know I got the o-flay Evs-day, oths-day, fo-ill-ray, r-ill-ray It-shay, o-nay, here comes the evs-day A-ma-a-day, a-ma-a-day [Verse 3: Devlin] Spray like a magnum, the world’s deadliest handgun, I’ve been around some I’m the quiet type, I’m not a loud one But when I throw blows Imma land one And I spray like a MAC, fast repeating I’m black Brap, I’m automatic and that I make your body movement erratic and that I’m more ill than a asthmatic on crack And I shoot like a shoty, I deliver bars to your body, blud I’m not shoddy My style's phat like blobby I’ll leave your body curled up in a lobby, believe that’s my hobby Shoot like a TEC And when you’re blazing your neck we're bunning hot bars to your neck Shoot like a TEC And when you’re blazing your neck we’re bunning hot bars to your neck [Verse 4: Dogzilla] I’m the best so face it brother I flow round the mic like no other No other contests when I’m on the mic Not even him or not even you Since when was it cool to be a liar Your mic flows are lies, a big nose Your second name's Pinocchio I’m Jepetto, the father, son I made ya I’m gonna pass you lot to the majors It’s been ages and now I’m ready I'm a conqueror, microphone sorcerer Uh uh uh, you won’t get better You’re a pecker, ball bag sucker I’m a fat fucker so I’ll eat ya I will treat you like you’re a speng Treat you like an outcast in the end [Verse 5: Devlin] And don’t front me, you can’t do so I don’t care if you box or do Judo Cos I’ll swing the post to your torso You’re not a gangster ready for the war, bro You’re another fake little skeng man You’ll be getting beat every time like hen man You’re not gangster cos you shot the peng man Sickest lyricist until the end man Yeah, so don’t tell me about rhyming I’m at the top of the hill, you’re still climbing You’ll get punched off the bike you’re riding And you deserve a fucking good hiding And you're an idiot, you ain’t got a clue Just what to do when the mics passed to you So go Clark’s, you’ll need new shoes As you’ve been getting battered and bruised on the move [Verse 6: Dogzilla] Mic mentor, Dogz reservoir, killer combos, styles galore I write equations, I write metaphors I got my dirty paws on this track Filthy rhymes, rhymes are intact For a war, on all combats My flow flips those acrobats No gun claps before it clicks, clap clap, click click We take the microphone and eat that shit I’ll do a bellyflop on your lyrics Dogzilla, I’m the warrest lyricist I spit weapons of mass destruction Giving your brain cells concussion Dogzilla, I’m like combustion I’m in the process of burning a mic [Verse 7: Devlin] They’re sweating, like the Evans And when I drop bars, yeah the question beckons Am I coming for the number one slot punk or will I come second Of course I won’t, my style's lethal just like weapons I know what I know, don’t care what you reckon I want more goal than David Beckham My boys blaze zoots and beers, we neck them off So you can suck out, cos I spit bars on the mic then I duck out And if I’m in the place then get the fuck out You come across me punk your luck’s out Yeah, and I’m not just not giving up Nah I don’t give a fuck, yeah I’m gonna live it up So bring your boys and I’ll hit them up Now pass me the mic, let me rip it up [Verse 8: Dogzilla] My mind is not my mind, my mind is way behind My mind’s locked up, fucked up, into grime Since the time my mind became a crime I’ve been hanging around, sitting around Wasting time, in the meantime writing rhymes Things come in my mind like Ask be life then fuck beeline How the fuck can you call it, be real Ask Danny weed the fuck I’m smoking My mind’s not mine at the moment It’s over there with Jack Nicholson like One flew over the cuckoo’s nest I’m a dolly, I’m a veg, I dribble on myself I shit myself, please I need help [Outro: Dogzilla & (Devlin)] That’s it, OT, Dogenham forever Fuck with it, fuck with us, fuck you, merked (Devs, Dogzi, OT, standard Dagenham) Practice Hours, the biggest one Don’t mess with that shit either Cos it’s the biggest, Practice Hours is real OT to the blood to the deathbed