Name: BLACKSMITHS by Saint BaLenci
Duration: 2 min 35 s
Description: NO TALKING NO CHIT CHAT. MIXED BY BOBBY BEATZ.

SAINT BALENCI X IZZY - FOREVER (PROD. M27)

FT. @V4NDALOFFICIAL. PROD. BY SILENTSYNDICATE.

OUTTA SIGHT [FT. V4NDAL]

YAKUZA

SPOTIFY

6 SHOT

all the fkn boys

lyrics: https://pastebin.com/VpERpNu1

IZZY x SAINT BALENCI x SYRIAC x SPAGZ x SKITZ - LETO CYPHER

IZZY X SAINT BALENCI - 3DG

NO TALKING NO CHIT CHAT. MIXED BY BOBBY BEATZ.

BLACKSMITHS

IZZY X SAINT BALENCI - IN THE FIELD

MOTOROLLA FLIP PHONES, TRAP WINNING.

LYRICS:

[intro]
kicked down so many doors
consider it chores
do it dirty clip curly
rounds hot and they come like smores

i aint got no behaviour
wild in style baby love my flavour
savior savior
ching them up like i deal with a hater

[verse]
slash and rip
ching that bitch
ding dong knock on your door then
pop shots off till the gun just jams and clicks

well known militant
guns and immigrants out here hitting these licks
no fugazi real glocks and steel
on the opp block just hope they don't trip

motorolla flip phones trap winning
age 15 two 44s twinning
come like max payne tryna turn man victim
take his last breath and shut down his system

rode down to the other side
tour de opp block and we left one spinning
his pool of blood seemed deep
what a shame that boy had never gone swimming

too many bodies dropped by this gun
how many times i did it for fun
ripping holes all through your chest
bringing fresh air right into your lungs

they say i'm tapped in the head
the things i speak on, and the ones that are dead
it's not my fault i don't give no fucks
we dug them six feet and put them to bed

say the word just like i'm crazy
no swae lee catch you in your dreams
this rambo knife might rip you
leave your jaw hanging just like a fiend

got bars on bars
and clips on clips
extendo mags for trips

no fingerprints
just fingertips
on dots when we ride and grip

MOTOROLLA

(( this is all in character ))

lyrics:

We don't do them shanks in bellys
Just knives in chests and we slit them throats
If I got that kay on me
You'll see it live-o no hiding in coats

Anything purple opp get bun
I'm on the opp block tryna drop man's lung
Put it in first and drop that clutch
I'm tryna see purple opps get done

Eastside no eastside man's skidding
Tryna change the fact that they're all living
Type of hittas that take your girl
And show her all night what she's been missing

When it comes to mashing work in the streets
These stupid opp boys do it all for the net
Lunatix don't do Twitter fingers
We hold dingers and aim for the neck

Tyrone's doing his best impression of a glory hole
With that neck of his
Cos when them shots ripped through his head and neck
He could hear the pastor preach

Don't talk about GBG,
No get back gang we know you're not moving
But Nova hid behind that cop
While the officer sat and done all the shooting

True say they came to lala
Robbed barely anything left all sour
What's that, reports of a nearby shooting
Look Tyrone's almost dead in an hour

Lunatix always coming in first
But Jack's always somehow coming in eighth
Mona's queue is getting too long
But we got priority straight to her lake

Tyrone's gangsta till there's a girl involved
Fuck that you're both getting booted
Open your mouth and bite the curb
I'll stomp your head and make sure you're muted

How can we even beef these cunts
Jack's face is almost ready to crumble
I guess you really are what you eat
Get your head out of Mona's thighs and be humble

Tyrone wasn't put in a spliff
We don't smoke bullshit or throw up white flags
But i know he got put on an express trip
And sent him straight to gulag

Too many Eastside are down at the station
Viper's somewhere enjoying vacation
My 6 shot spinner up in rotation
Big 4-5 it comes with good aiming

AK the drilla ain't no drilla
the word's in his name set as a reminder
Your head looks like an unshaved nut
But my 9 cuts through and leaves no survivors

Send me the address of your dead friends
I'll make sure to back my dick on their grave
Fuck 15 inch 22 inch rambo
I'll back it and dash it into your face

All of these Stupid Guys
say it like Dimzy leave holes in your chest
Endless beef and endless mags
When we take their souls we call it a theft

Pathetic attempts at trying to breathe
When I got my mask & knife I'm like Scream
I move like Jason with a saw tryna slice
Through cunts with glocks & red laser beams

anything ESB get dead up
whoosh pon them with a shank and get wet up
verbal abuse come long with a set up
we kill more of them the pressure's not let up

we're at their funerals blowing smoke and coughing
this Kay come long like your dead bros coffin
decapitations from us are still common
we beef with that side and we still make profit

blessings on blessings
357, highway to heaven, shoot smith and wessons
combo the pussy, moving like tekken
harshest of bars they're stinging like venom

double-tap heads in the streets im tapped
when you hear that loud bang you know its been slapped
when i pass these guns you know they come wrapped
when you hear that click you know you've been tracked

9 millimetre we're grippin the heaters
we get that grey goose and we pour by the litre
my boys are some butchers they're good with a cleaver
they chop up the body and stuff in a freezer

i know a lil demon he sent me a message
he's asking me if he could pop some more people
i told him to chill but i'll give him my blessing
just make sure you do the job clean and its lethal

don't give a fuck leave the job done with succession
we're men that leave families with some depression
you asked for the hit there should be no more questions
mob boss we run this shit like it's profession

speak of the mob we do hits with suppression
my dick in her guts and she shake with possession
stone cold my flows i rap ruthless aggression
i keep it real to the death my only confession

GET BACK GANG (DISS) [PROD. GHOSTY]

thank you for 100k total plays

lyrics:

they fear their lives 
when the boys shout run it
circle the block not once not twice 
three times fuck that they done it

they say our crews are on violence
they're sliding just cos they love it
any time any place we're stepping
grab them rifles in bags they stuff it
dump the whole mag no thoughts say fuck it

them leto boys always move different
7 up against 16 opps got dropped 
come spot the difference

from talking all of that talk 
to copping shots they soon turn victim
the words i speak come wicked
just bitchin when they start snitchin
in kitchens we keep guns hidden

---

real silencers, no pillows
they stalk us they want our info
keep our heads low, guns through the window
don't make us turn your wife to a widow

leather seats and the windows tinted
too fast baby dont get winded
leave me alone let my thoughts get twisted
not the weeknd play my games all wicked

never let my lawn grow high
the way that these snakes move slow in grass
never demand that i get attention
when i speak out now youre sitting in class

you can run but you never can hide
you'd think im stone cold when i shatter that glass
clap clap clap clap
dont know if its the gun or my girls big ass

---

if only their words really phased me
all now i can see why they hate me
give me a reason to draw this machete
im 50 the men i've killed are many

when the AP comes out and busts
duck, cover your head shout fuck
luck don't play any part round here
only skilled experience when the gun gets tucked

we've heard their voices while they screamed
shots to their chests we've heard them all wheeze
stuck them shanks deep in their throats
you should see the way that their eyes just freeze

if i named all the opps we've dropped
i'd drop an album cos the list's so long
many don't know behind all these songs
is a list of opps that have all been knocked

---

they fear their lives 
when the boys shout run it
circle the block not once not twice 
three times fuck that they done it

they say our crews are on violence
they're sliding just cos they love it
any time any place we're stepping
grab them rifles in bags they stuff it
dump the whole mag no thoughts say fuck it

them leto boys always move different
7 up against 16 opps got dropped 
come spot the difference

from talking all of that talk 
to copping shots they soon turn victim
the words i speak come wicked
just bitchin when they start snitchin
in kitchens we keep guns hidden

RUN IT

saudade
/saʊˈdɑːdə/
noun

(especially with reference to songs or poetry) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia that is supposedly characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament. It describes a deep emotional state; a yearning for a happiness that has passed, or perhaps never even existed.

BLACKSMITHS

Saint BaLenci

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