Quick 1-2

(NineOne) I ain't got time for wasting So I'ma be direct Hastings Let off the dogs, they chase him Watch 'em run like greyhound racing In a big old yacht, plain sailing Seize it, that's mine for the taking Shut your mouth Nah, we don't deal with the bacon And I mind my business Family man, I love my missus Feet up with a tea in a cup And a rag in my hand and a plate full of biscuits Stay silent witness You don't wanna end up name on the hitlist Get cut, get trim Can't run from me, I'm on top of my fitness Glass of the dark Bacardi Birds wanna come bonk at the after-party Call me captain while I'm backing the rum Second to none, I'm one big son of a gun And I'm paid, this monеy comes rolling in Louis luggage, I hold it in Pinstripe on thе suit and it's YSL I got every colour they sold it in Let me just break it down Twenty-five bags on the racing hounds A man like me don't wait around You make one wrong move, get taken out Touchscreen on the Tesla dash High tech, new name, call me Techno-Bas Inspector Gadget, the car's got magnets Glovebox pin to protect the mash Hop out the range Rearranging my hair then I'm jumping the queue to the front Yeah, step to the green room Smoking a man then I'm rolling his ash in a blunt, uh Anyone will get that backhand Sovereigns up to the kingdom come Nah, I don't give a monkeys Knocking boots with his bird while I back this rum, yeah Let me grab my shooter Give me the keys to the car, no scooter Loot that strip, then I stack that mula Circle the block in a loop, like a hula hoop So rude, so reckless Iced-out charm on my diamond necklace My name's at the top of the guestlist Little prick, give him a jab just like tetanus Fix up, look sharper Young boys, you need to try harder Three-piece suit while I sip Cortado Got birds lined up for the young Sinatra I'm frank with 'em, did 'em Bruck that down like brocks in the walls of the bando building Where the cracks got filled in So the feds couldn't find that stash Back to the villa, mattress drilling Head-top gone like circumcision Love this feeling, countless women Count that cash while I sing Bob Dylan London villain, rise and grill 'em His time's up, let me Richard Mille 'em Boys come with 'em, dirt and dig 'em Six feet deep in a dirty ditch And I'm in my seventies Old cat with a flow so heavenly Big gaff on the hill like Beverly Steel toe cap, air force energy God bless my enemies We're not chums, I'm a different pedigree So don't talk that nonsense Or you get toasted like prawn sesame Scored so many goals, don't miss Taking the piss, where's your keeper? Chopped up in a black bin bag Poor sod lost in a Bosch fridge-freezer I'm a lovely geezer But sometimes I'm a violent bastard I work hard all week Wait 'till the weekend then I get plastered Park up outside, headlights on full Full of them sticks, so I can't get pulled Pulling them birds like rings on cans Can a man rest? I'ma block them calls Call cleaners when a job gets done Done a man in, did him in, got spun Spin that wheel, foot down on the pedal Pedalling gear, ship that by the tonne Tunbridge Wells for the house in cunch Went country to supply that lunch Lunch outside in a plastic wrap Wrapped up warm for the night time run Run a man down, then I grabbed his food Fed that grub to the local nits Knit tight, got a smaller circle Circle the block while I fling them bits