Ready To Die

6 plays·0 likes·2:46
Prompt / Lyrics
JAGGA B - READY TO DROP (132 BPM EDIT)

[INTRO - Heavy, deep 808s hit slow and hard. Tempo is calculated, not frantic. Dark keys.]

AD-LIB (Deep, distorted): Ay, man. Real Drillers only.
JAGGA B. (Controlled, menacing): Yeah, yeah, you ready, motherfucker?
We gonna send your soul home.
(AD-LIB: I'm ready, still.)

[VERSE 1 - The 132 BPM rhythm focuses on powerful kicks and bass slides.]

JAGGA B.
As I grip the mash, put the red beam to your headie, man
One in the chamber, safety is off—I’m steady, man.
Straight at your wig, homes, I wanna see corn fly (AD-LIB: Bap!)
Jagga B. the savage, watchin' your brain cells drop.
Carbon fibre's the material for the imperial,
Bally-wearer, whip-stealer, the dark wock sipper.
Quick to bag the right chick, make her drive the coup.
WAPs and Z-bars expected when I chew up the avenue.
Respect is collected, so check it, I got techniques
Drippin' out my tracksuit, sleep on my front so I don't crease up my sheets, huh.
My pain is deep, deeper than my grave, G,
I’m ready to drop, and no one can save me.
F the world, F the opps and my girl,
My life is played out like a jheri curl, I’m ready to drop! (AD-LIB: Woii, woii!)

[HOOK - Beat remains slow and grinding. Emphasizing the P's and Cheddar.]

JAGGA B.
As I sit back and look when I used to be a crook,
Doin' whatever it took, from kickin' doors on the trap line.
A big bad motherfucker on the wrong road,
Got some loud, tried to get the whole block sewed.
I want it all, from the Rollies to the Black Lex',
Gettin' P's is all I expected.
My mum never gave me what I need, what the F?
Now I've got a skeng makin' pagans step.
Shit is real, and hungry's how I feel,
I rob and steal because that cheddar got that whip appeal. (AD-LIB: Skrr!)
Kickin' trappers down the steps just for rep,
Any repercussion lead to pagans gettin' drenched.
The dot is at your head, real steady,
You better grab your tools, 'cause I'm ready.
I'm ready to drop.
(AD-LIB: Yes, I'm ready, fam)

[BRIDGE - The beat cuts back slightly, focusing on a heavy kick drum pulse.]

JAGGA B.
Nah, we ain't gonna put you in the box yet, we gonna make you suffer.
(AD-LIB: So die, pagans, die, pagans, die.)
In a sec, I throw the corn to your fuckin' neck,
Everybody hit the deck, Jagga B. 'bout to get some respect.
Quick to leave you in a coffin for slick talkin',
You better act like CeCe and keep on walkin'.
When I hit ya, I dip ya to the white meat,
From The Nort right to the south side, Zone 6 to the concrete.
Your face, my boot, they meet with stompin',
I'm rippin' mandem from the manor to the ends.
Jagga B. on a higher plane,
Niggas say I'm strange, deranged, 'cause I put the borer to your brain.
Make your head pop,
Mix the blood like batter, then my racks get fatter.
After the hit, leave you on the street with your neck slit,
Down your backbone to where your motherfuckin' juice drip.
The bars I kick, rippin' through the vest,
Jagga B. passin' any test, I'm ready to drop! (AD-LIB: Boom!)
I'm ready.
Yes, I'm readyy