Prowla - Hard Yards lyrics

Ballied up man, bolt cutters strapped Old black maxes incase the Jacks have me running tracks A dozen 'laks in the stash see the job through And opposition crews know who this yard belongs to We on cue, the secco left his post Near two and text from the lookout says the coasts clear Theres no fear, just rushing as the holes cut I'm buzzing like I'm busting through bank doors in a hold up The smell of steel is real in the yard tucked Between two cars under stars starting the mark up And barred up, at the thought of the finished works Perched on the Flinders Street bridge in the city first Thing in the morn, all eyes drawn to the charos Four fade filled, ill burner door to door with arrows Trawling my pockets stained with ink blots For fat caps and pink dots, I copped at This is it off My man doom, so far sh**s gone to plan But till I'm sitting home with flicks I ain't sing a song 'n' dance Ansells on my hands, sticking a finger at the law We bombing the system for the risk and reward (Chorus) f** the buff and the transits too Where my vandal crews, bandanas up skew the camera views Hitting them yards hard with stained hands "Fully equipped with the Mic and the spraycan!" f** the buff and the transits too Where my vandal crews, bandanas up skew the camera views Hitting them yards hard with stained hands "Fully equipped with the Mic and the spraycan!" An hour into the mish, it still seems safe enough Adding doo-dads 'n' bits, "Yeah now it's shaping up." We taking up this car, from T to B, end to end Next Kings Way Book, that sh**'ll be the centre spread A step ahead of the law as a call came Cop cars crawling past, I lept from the doorframe And crept to the treeline, out the high beams shinin' Fiending to finish off my cut backs and key lines Quick flash as the pigs lash, we back at work Slap on a final as quick as these Ironlaks will squirt Aspend white for the highlihgts to ice the cake Bragging rights is the pride of place prize at stake Despite late night, cop chases, raids, fights Kid's getting their sketch tight, f** getting their grades right If you ain't done it, you won't understand f** a dancefloor Track rocks is where we did the runnin' man I grap a snap and elapse with lasting proof of This masterpiece in all it's glory, on some Martha Cooper Crack a brew, spark a scoob and Raise a gla** for them All City Kings of the past 'n' future (Chorus) (Cut Section)