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letra de oligarch hit squad - qeld

[verse 1: bob savage]
i’m taking the piss out the whole force
hating the pigs and the old lords
raising my fist
these racists get kicked
i’m taking a shit on your golf course
blazing a spliff, while i’m yearning for bougies dead
bogart bobby be burning your bupa beds
most are probably concerned that they’re losing ‘cred’
they didn’t see the guillotines, now merchants are losing heads
there’s no asking for pardon
i’m having to harm ’em
no country for old men, i javier bardem
most trust me to roll peng fatties and spark em
no jumped-up, dumb f-cks rapping for stardom (nah)
they ran that-a-way
we ain’t had our say
we’re les misé-rappers, but ain’t anne hathaway
…so to get four-hour days
get more barricades
and less george galloways

[hook: jenre]
who the hell we be, dropping bars shit hot?
q-e-l-d the oligarch hit squad
posh breres in crosshairs, gotta target toffs
jon’s there and bob’s there, crossing our lists off

[verse 2: bob savage]
this is lebanon
feel our presence from
petrograd with petrol bombs
till we’re pressing on
your pentagram pentagon
it’s a pisstake
they just wanna dictate
shitsake
you can fist shake
until your f-cking wrist aches
and it won’t do nothing…
i smoke too much and i don’t do nothing
the flow still so swagging
most meals don’t happen
just no frills smoked gammon
disappear, so bilbo baggins
…but none can amount to
bogart bob, when he buns down an ounce too
oaths are dropped, now we come to denounce you
most are shot, like the sc-m that surround you
…so you better not piss about clearly
qeld swing the hammer and sickle down fiercely
slashing adam smith’s wrists – trickle-down theory
snatching cannabis if your piff is out near me

[hook]

[verse 3: bob savage]
the bread’s week-old, the cheese mould is sinister
bob savage, balsamic sea salt ‘n’ vinegar
revolting prisoners
we told solicitors
“behold!”
as we proles administer
sleepholds to ministers
…not the orphans, it’s the zombies of cush
it’s not romney or bush
we got communist books
that we know off by heart
so you got blown apart
real revolutionaries, no bonaparte
…they don’t like this racket
revolutionaries in hi-vis jackets
bobby, the junkie, the d-mn savage heathen
“i could catch a monkey,” the rap gareth keenan
no brentmeister players
there’s sc-m on top, eat the entire layer
bobby the empire slayer
dictatorship of the yolotariat
sit blazing piff in some no-go areas

[hook]

[verse 4: bob savage]
so pardon my french and don’t start to panic
my bars cause offence to your farmer racket
you aren’t really hench in your barbour jacket
i’m armed with a wrench like a car mechanic, yo

- qeld

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