Church Letra

I gotta lick bones on a Sunday, I re-up at church, it's mad ting, sad ting
Still I've gotta pray for my sins
I've done a lot of dirt but I'm innocent, chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 623, man, I pray I don't pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I'm tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental, treating our cell like the gym

Out here with bare amnesia with Benny
Glove tryna buss my door, saying tone it down cause your cell too smelly
Let me roll this burn, kick back, sip tea, watch telly
Skinny motherfucker, one day in the gym got me feeling hench already
I see a man so low, he's tryna swap anything for a brekky
And the ops don't leave their wing, hella funny man coming like Jim Carrey
Gang rich gang, tryna make a new plan, and I drink Hooch like Henney
I bang, rich gang, tryna make a new plan, and I drink Hooch like Henney
Free Mental
Our op got got so they threw him in jail
Just the other day, we was whipping in the kettle
Bare Drizzy Drake in the cell
Two incense sticks get lit up
Bare amnesia in the cell
Two incense sticks get lit up
Bare amnesia in the cell

Jail time had me doing hella planning
Smoking amm, watching pure TV, had me screaming out "Free Max Branning"
Then smashing bits in draws, packs of amm and TECs on the landing
I gotta lick bones on a Sunday, I re-up at church, it's mad ting, sad ting
Still I've gotta pray for my sins
I've done a lot of dirt but I'm innocent, chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 623, man, I pray I don't pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I'm tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental, treating our cell like the gym

Stepped out of violence
I've got beef with neeks and trident
See man run so we sound that drum
Bet he thought he was sliding
I gotta stay low from the siren
Cos I got that thing on me like I ain't breaching my license
Bro go fiddle with the mash so much you think he was typing
Send P's to the guys in jail tell them that there's no point writing
Tryna stay low from the feds and they tryna bait out where I'm hiding
Pull up in a stolen truck, hear thunder see lightning
That shit's exciting
The whole squad done obbo
Feds make squad feel famous wherever they see us they follow
They don't really like how I'm living smoke niggas get money's the mobbo
Reload square after square, like I don't know about obbo
Skid round tryna serve man a hollow

Jail time had me doing hella planning
Smoking amm, watching pure TV, had me screaming out "Free Max Branning"
Then smashing bits in draws, packs of amm and TECs on the landing
I gotta lick bones on a Sunday, I re-up at church, it's mad ting, sad ting
Still I've gotta pray for my sins
I've done a lot of dirt but I'm innocent, chilling with Streets on the wing
And he just got a 623, man, I pray I don't pay for the work I put in
SC got his case dismissed, I'm tryna be feeling like him
Just the other day I was locked up with Mental, treating our cell like the gym