| strap that nigga
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| From the M.O.B., run this shit down like
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| From the M.O.B., run this shit down like
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| Bitch, I’m on a mission, my destination the grave
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| Aim my chopper to your head, then I take off your toupée
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| Mobbin' four deep inside of a bucket, the transmission slippin'
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| Had a conversation with the devil, told me, «Get to rippin'»
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| It’s the Grey*59, throw your six up in the air
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| Darkness fallin' from above, step across and, bitch, beware
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| I’d rather die from my feet than to live up on my knees
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| True soldier from the trenches, trappin' out the seven seas
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| Fuck with me and get your wig pulled back
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| Steady swervin' off a Xanax that I put inside the shack
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| This shit is kickin' in and I just don’t know how to act
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| My remembrance is enough, 'bout to pull a hijack
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| Crash a plane inside of the buildin', now watch the bodies burn
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| As the world turns, police sirens comin' but I’m not concerned
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| Suicidal, lay my ashes inside of a gold urn
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| Shootin' at these bustas so you know murder is what I yearn
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| Get a call, it from my uncle, tell me, «Nephew, what you doin'?
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| Come to M-town, we can get some money and pick up the chewin'»
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| Ball 'til the day I fall, hundred gold spokes when I crawl
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| Keep my back along the wall, watch another pussy fall
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| Mind fucked up, keep the toolie like I’m Bobby, mane
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| In the kitchen whippin' up a storm and standin' in the rain
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| 'Til you put me in the dirt and leave my body to decay
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| Run up, bitch you don’t wanna
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| I keep my gun up 'til the sun up, creep on the come up
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| I push this gat into your stomach, bitch, I’m the gunner
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| You think you ballin', you no stunna 'cause I’m a hunter
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| This is a stick-up, lay it down when I come around, a mask over my face
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| Buckin' at the window, drive-by, bitches give me space
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| I don’t need to talk to nobody 'cause all you suckas fake
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| Bitch, you mad about the fact that your music don’t make plays
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| Sellin' reposts, you’s a ho, I need ten to spit a flow
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| Twenty bands up at your show, Gorilla comin' out the sko
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| Brown paper bagged up, St. Ides sippin'
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| Like I said in the beginning, I’m a killa on a mission
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| Better back the fuck up 'cause shit’s about to get real
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| Call upon the fucking devil so him and I cut a deal
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| Searchin' for another meal, could give a fuck how you feel
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| Bitch, you fuckin' with the wrong one, I’m 'bout to make you squeal |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 100 Bars & Gunnin , by - Ramirez. Song from the album Son Of Serpentine, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп