Russ Millions – Link Up (Instrumental) (Prod. By 800 Hertz & Jamma Beats)

[Intro: Mr WOT]
800 Hertz
Jamma Beats
Fresh money, baby
Yo, Dublin, big up yourself, you dun know
Obviously, trust it
Crud
Muad

[Verse 1: J.B2]
Man-man back your mash and bop with a different sauce
And-and splash your cash, she bop with the edible, oh
Blue lights, see po-po
I don’t know what to-to do
Baby cattin’, uh, bueno
Fishing-fishing, lost, Nemo
[Verse 2: Russ]
Fuck-fuck ‘dem yutes, they’re irrelevant
Infected, they need medicine
On sight ‘ting, if you’re from Bellingham
One man up, way too militant
Slide with the broom like Harry, uh
Sexed on your bae, no bally
Akhi, ying and yang, I been trappy
Fly then lick the shots in the alley

[Verse 3: J.B2]
Michael Jackson, twist up your neck
Chat again, man pattern the neek
Arsenal, bro, curve it Welbeck onna run
Big man on the net turn likkle-likkle
Na, uh-uh, today can’t settle-settle
Give out molly tun, Skittle-Skittle
Baby ‘pon me, just jiggle-jiggle
Gotta jeet and skeet tryna surf on pum

[Verse 4: Russ]
Michael Jack, moonwalk in a crutch
Pretty face and a whole load of butt
Ching him up, tryna take out your guts
Boom-bang, got two in the bruck
Like, bro, what was you thinking?
Back it out, now the yutes sprinting
Let ’em have it, let the pain sink in
Shoot, slap it off without blinking
[Verse 5: Chuks]
I don’t even wanna talk too much
All these faggots know we put poles in dingers
I might get DS to back his shank or get big bro to back his spinner
They don’t wanna see Loose in the cold, bro
Had them shook and turned them sprinter
How many times have we run down Adz?
Got chased with shanks, some stupid nigga
Got caught in the lack while sleeping
How the fuck can I call this beefin’?
They don’t want this index squeezing
Regz in the room so your bitch ain’t leaving
How many times did they lock up bro?
I backed my shank, don’t need me a reason
Wait ’til shh comes back in ends
Cah ’til he does, I won’t stop creeping

[Verse 6: J.B2]
Who’s-who’s that nigga?
You ain’t badder than us, you’re shit
Kway-kway, bill up the spliff and lit
She just loving the sex, lick tit
Trust me, daddy
When I bop her batty
Tryna nut it in Kelly
Finna ugh, no quicky
When I beef lick that, tryna get this teddy
Couldn’t give chit-chat
[Verse 7: Chuks]
See the opps taking off so rapid
Back out my shank then it’s back in jackets
And the gyal over there so ratchet
Opp’s gon’ cuff ’cause they come like faggots
I done slept in the cell no blankets
Had to put all my stuff in baskets
And they put all my food in plastic
They done bag all my clothes in packets
It’s the life I live, where you never see man complain
I ain’t never seen YJ so gassed; made the grub disappear like David Blaine
It’s like Remi done put out a diss track, then got straight on the rassclaat plane
It’s got my head back hurting so I gotta smoke the Mary Jane
Huh? Huh?
I shoulda known better
I put holes in numerous tops so the pigs send home letters
I got ’round ‘ere with a sawed-off dots, yeah they say I’m a
​home-wrecker
Man J.Sav really can’t stop dipping
Mum’s have to go sew sweaters
Tryna get a mans top wetter
Opps doin’ up love letters
I can’t trust no female, you can call me dome-getter
I ain’t got no feelings
So I’m out here breaking hearts
I’m really tryna get that target
Shank in your head like I’m playing darts

[Outro: Mr WOT]
Crud
Muad