Jenre - Oligarch Hit Squad lyrics

[Verse 1: Bob Savage] I'm taking the piss out the whole force Hating the pigs and the old lords Raising my fist These racists get kicked I'm taking a sh** on your golf course Blazing a spliff, while I'm yearning for bougies dead Bogart Bobby be burning your BUPA beds Most are probably concerned that they're losing 'cred' They didn't see the guillotines, now merchants are losing heads There's no asking for pardon I'm having to harm 'em No Country For Old Men, I Javier Bardem Most trust me to roll peng fatties and spark em No jumped-up, dumb f**s rapping for stardom (nah) They ran that-a-way We ain't had our say We're Les Misé-rappers, but ain't Anne Hathaway ...So to get four-hour days Get more barricades And less George Galloways [Hook: Jenre] Who the hell we be, dropping bars sh** hot? Q-E-L-D the Oligarch Hit Squad Posh breres in crosshairs, gotta target toffs Jon's there and Bob's there, crossing our lists off [Verse 2: Bob Savage] This is Lebanon Feel our presence from Petrograd with petrol bombs Till we're pressing on Your pentagram Pentagon It's a pisstake They just wanna dictate sh**sake You can fist shake Until your f**ing wrist aches And it won't do nothing... I smoke too much and I don't do nothing The flow still so swagging Most meals don't happen Just No Frills smoked gammon Disappear, so Bilbo Baggins ...But none can amount to Bogart Bob, when he buns down an ounce too Oaths are dropped, now we come to denounce you Most are shot, like the scum that surround you ...So you better not piss about clearly QELD swing the Hammer and Sickle down fiercely Slashing Adam Smith's wrists - Trickle-Down Theory Snatching cannabis if your piff is out near me [Hook] [Verse 3: Bob Savage] The bread's week-old, the cheese mould is sinister Bob Savage, Balsamic Sea Salt 'n' Vinegar Revolting prisoners We told solicitors "BEHOLD!" As we proles administer Sleepholds to ministers ...Not the Orphans, it's the zombies of Cush It's not Romney or Bush We got communist books That we know off by heart So you got blown apart Real revolutionaries, no Bonaparte ...They don't like this racket Revolutionaries in hi-vis jackets Bobby, the junkie, the damn Savage heathen "I could catch a monkey," the rap Gareth Keenan No Brentmeister players There's scum on top, eat the entire layer Bobby the Empire Slayer Dictatorship of the Yolotariat Sit blazing piff in some no-go areas [Hook] [Verse 4: Bob Savage] So pardon my French and don't start to panic My bars cause offence to your farmer racket You aren't really hench in your Barbour jacket I'm armed with a wrench like a car mechanic, yo