Ain't Gonna Do - Blay Vision

Why’s man acting dank?

You’re only a G around certain man

If I type in the postcode and it bangs

You will get left with more than a tan

Bun, man know me and the gang

Jump on the set, everyting get shelled

Average MCs don’t get prang

Just don’t be a target and everyting’s swell

Man chat shit, then everyting swells

Nose, eyes, everyting swells

Lip buss, everyting swells

Skrr out in the whip like well, well, well

I never came here to take man’s girl

But if she’s rating a man then shell

I’m not a reload MC, I shell

When the shells get reloads, man don’t yell

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes

I know man that will marry your mum

Get a Visa, come to the country and dun your clart

Where do I start?

Man have been sick from the get-go

Everybody knows wah gwan

And if I say I’m gonna box man up

Don’t think faces aren’t gonna get harmed

I might put five gold chains on your neck

And then make my man walk through Farm

Nah, them man are smoking buj

Draw man out?

Man wish they could

Man have got fifteen-year friendships

That will run up in your yard with shells and juj

Run up in your yard with shells and pain

These mandem don’t know about shame

Box man down in front of his wifey

His son went home thinking «you're lame»

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes

Mandem are losing themselves for the reload

Shouting out things that will get them bored

Fam, I am not here for the banter

We can even take this talk next door

When you hear me, just know it’s the realest

Man don’t flex like lyrical whores

Dem man there make tunes with suckers

Them antics, man can’t endorse

Nah, man better calm in the skin

God gave them before man bun it

Ten years deep, man can’t run it

Dead MCs, man’s all done it

Lord of the Mics, yeah, man won it

All from heat, man’s still gunning

Sixteen bars had man running

Got no youts, man’s still sonning

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes

Man will get punched up, sent home

Mumbling things that he ain’t gonna do

He’s gonna kill Blay?

He ain’t gonna do

Rob my food?

He ain’t gonna do

Run up in my home?

He ain’t gonna do

Man got sent to the shops with the forearm

Man better go home, heal up wounds

Man can’t shell, don’t ask 'bout tunes