| Haha
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| Ca$his, Ca$his
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| Yeah!
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| King Mathers
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| C’MON!
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| Pistol poppin, come get me nigga!
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| Pistol poppin, bodies droppin, layin all around
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| You thought it was a game, now the neighbors callin out
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| The police find that, what’s that sound?
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| While you layin on the ground with your fuckin brain out
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| Walk through the door with my hands on a gun
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| Cause niggaz 'round here wanna ask where I’m from
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| I throw up my signs, step back and pop one
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| 'fore you throw up your sign if you even got one
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| I used to bust niggaz heads open for fun
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| Chase him down, stomp him out, if he tried to run
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| I could flip packs, get stacks, big straps, where it at?
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| Slung crack, real cat, you ain’t never did that
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| Go hard, no peace, I gotta keep, chrome heat
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| I don’t sleep, homie I’m watched by the police
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| Cops out patrolling, grab a glock-40
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| Sniper at the squad car, story noting
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| Fuck it if you want beef, click-clack, wack rap
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| Tossed straps before, I’m out of here, homie
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| Militant in a sense, I don’t really give a shit
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| Call up, Eminem, I gotta plead innocent
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| Sixteenth in my sneakers, I ain’t listen to my teachers
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| I’m the most hated nigga alive, since Jesus
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| Maybe in the afterlife they’ll reveal my Christ-like abilities
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| Come back, then ride on my enemies
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| Never been afraid of beef, metals of my bravery
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| War situations got you sayin he, crazy G And emerge with the beat, I can serve anything
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| Especially anybody tryin to diss my team? |
| Shady
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| G-Unit, Aftermath the same thing
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| So if you say them punk nigga you say me I be in L.A. G, get at me when you see me Catch you in O.C., and in the bag you’ll be leaving
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| I ain’t worried 'bout my freedom cause for me to get even
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| is worth e’rything, it’s on B.B.G.N.
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| I son’d you folk, I’m lookin at your pinkie
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| You a fake-ass gangsta, what a waste of my scenery
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| Maybe I just feel like there’s too many pussies in rap
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| Shady (Ca$his) we gotta push 'em to the back
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| Move 'em along, push 'em aside, don’t get me wrong
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| I love the finger snaps and the claps into the song
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| It’s got a catch but come on man, the raps
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| We all gotta step our game up; |
| especially these lame fucks
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| who walk around with their chest out
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| just tryin to be down with anybody who’s left now
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| Better be down with them, huh
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| But I dare some bitch to say somethin about, Eminem
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| Cause I’m not in the mood to be playin around with dudes
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| I already seen two friends get shot in the head
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| and lay on the ground this year and, one didn’t make it Proof, you are the truth
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| Please don’t let us come face to face with these boo-boo-hoo
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| Fake-ass tattooed havin
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| Fif’please tell 'em right now how hard it has been
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| for me to try and, stay out it But they just won’t quit runnin their mouth
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| at least 'til there’s a gun in it; |
| son of a bitch!
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| We all got shooters, yeah these days who doesn’t?
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| And as far as the snaps and claps, I wasn’t
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| dissin the South, that isn’t what this is about
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| I just so sick of the beef, I don’t even wanna see anymore |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pistol Poppin' , by - Cashis. Song from the album The County Hound - EP, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп