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