Lyrics Running Man - Casper TNG, R k

Running Man

Uh, fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
Hit the running man
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
Ayy
Peter pan, he gon' fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
No trace, no case, I just hit the dash
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
All he hear is thirty shots when he running, man
Pull up on his block, hit the running man
Best believe I’m right behind with my gun in hand
We the ones putting up new cameras
Do a drill then swap for the hammer
We the ones, big chains, can’t jam us
We the ones got downtown onto madness
Police, freeze, dance for the camera
And I smoke like green lantern
Smoking on new opps on Saturn
Shawty got a man, that don’t really matter
I’ve seen real niggas turn into fake niggas
Seen lil' niggas growing up to spank niggas
And if you don’t know my team then you late, nigga
We the ones with your bitch chilling by the lake, nigga
He was sleeping, heard the shots, he awake
If I’m on your block, I’m shooting unless somebody get him baked
I’ma cook 'em like a cake
Bullets faster than running but I hit him it’s fate
But that’s just the way we play, nigga
Peter pan, he gon' fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
No trace, no case, I just hit the dash
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
All he hear is thirty shots when he running, man
Pull up on his block, hit the running man
Best believe I’m right behind with my gun in hand
Peter pan, he gon' fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
No trace, no case, I just hit the dash
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
All he hear is thirty shots when he running, man
Pull up on his block, hit the running man
Best believe I’m right behind with my gun in hand
I’ma make the whole crowd do the running man
Black gloves, black mask, no evidence
Then it’s back to the trap, do my money dance
What you know 'bout counting up hundred bands?
Shawty say I’m so fly like I’m Peter Pan
Said she want to take a ride off to Neverland
When it’s time, I’ma ride with my gun in hand
Pull up on your block hit the running man
To be honest, I’m a trapaholic
Tell me get him, I’ma hit him, that’s regardless
Paper around me, all I see is monsters
My block cloudy, new ganja
Every man hot sauce, we lava
Sell 'lotta food like we Loblaws
Don’t diss me, you don’t want trauma
Gotta llama, deal with you proper
I’ma make the whole crowd do the running man
Black gloves, black mask, no evidence
Then it’s back to the trap, do my money dance
Then it’s back to the trap, do my money dance
I’ma make the whole crowd do the running man
Black gloves black mask no evidence
Then it’s back to the trap, do my money dance
Then it’s back to the trap, do my money dance
Peter pan, he gon' fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
No trace, no case, I just hit the dash
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
All he hear is thirty shots when he running, man
Pull up on his block, hit the running man
Best believe I’m right behind with my gun in hand
Peter pan, he gon' fly into Neverland
Brand new .38 and it never jam
Three eight like butter on my bread and jam
No trace, no case, I just hit the dash
I’ma pull up on his block, he hit the running man
All he hear is thirty shots when he running, man
Pull up on his block, hit the running man
Best believe I’m right behind with my gun in hand