Trails - Wsup lyrics

[Hosts Commentary: Briggs] Yo, check it out. What do you get when you put the whole G.E. camp in the one place, in the one time, on the one beat? You get a motherf**ing problem, that's what you get. [Verse 1: Suffa] Check You're in session with them boys from G.E. We can't even pretend to be some toys like E.T., we lose 'em When we mix breaks won't see me, confuse 'em Like how there's mixtapes on CD, abuse 'em Like stepdads drunk and just made redundant And you hear footsteps down your hallway thundering We got Trials [?] You can't find a better man, just go ask any [?] [Verse 2: Briggs] I'm an animal with a catapult and a bone to pick (Son) The chip on my shoulder is as big as this boulder is (Son) The squad is back with the Golden cliche Like the one and only Briggs, I'm not E.T., I never phone it in So hold your horses or your Holden 'cause you can't afford To catch an elbow for whatever the f** it is you askin' for Mongrel, can't avoid the banana store Chewing on the carca** of an artist, can you pa** the sauce? [Verse 3: Hons] I got eight bars to get it deeper than a graveyard Six-foot trench is how we make ours This is real rap, hard hitting like a Steel Cap Kick [?] make you feel that Yeah, I poke at beats, f**ing k**ed that [?] For the G.E. squad holding down the front line I'ma take what's mine, plus everything else So lock up your daughters and hide your [?], I'm coming [Verse 4: Sesta] It's like [?] night, you inviting 'em in They [?] My advice is "Don't let 'em win," if they try, let 'em think They can swim but they can't, when they dive, let 'em sink I'm on the brink [?] Wallet near the body, politician in the sink Your beat mellow, uh, your deep sh** shallow Intellectual property probably stink ([?]) [Verse 5: Vents] Yeah, yeah, it's Golden Era Till I'm dead fella, so get the f** in the body bag You and your mates are half-naked, draped in an Aussie flag I'm not the type to be proud of my race I'm proud of the way my right hand pounding your face Spark the L, Vents ain't well-raised [?] like train robbers Then disappear like rainforests Hate coppers with a pa**ion Rip up the mic in a proper [?] fashion, Vents [Verse 6: Pressure] Y'all know my name by now, I motivate a crowd [?] sacred so they taking vows But I'm a devil in disguise, peddle Hell and all [?] Think there'll be a Golden Era when I die Me and my apostles gonna have a feast of flies Breathing life into the dead, underground like Jesus Christ Now we the ones speaking tongues to the lost Tag my verse upon your church just to get my point across [Verse 7: Trails] I take the mic and Donkey Kong [?] Stick 'em in the ring, they both rappers, much different Alarm bells from Hell when I escape Quick as the depression that sets in as I awake Hit the motherf**er out of the shop (Whoa) Beat-boxing to the sound of the cops (No) I got this loaded pistol under my head I can't sleep incase Josef Fritzl under my bed What the f**? [Hosts Commentary: Briggs] Golden Era Mixtape two-thousand-and-twelve. Pssh. That's done. It's done, it's over. Finished. Pssh. Get your hands off 'em. Stop it! Just stop it, he's already dead!