| Your crew ain’t no killers, your hittas ain’t hit shit
|
| What’s your body count nigga, y’all niggas don’t live that shit
|
| All these extended clips, sick dicks
|
| Every nigga made my hit list, got scratched off like quick pick
|
| You’re not a gangsta, you’re a crook
|
| Put down a gun, get a book
|
| You’re just a diamond with some fire, that’s why your shooting don’t look
|
| Smile soldier, no train
|
| Then IKEA get hit
|
| Sucker living in the rep, that’s why your wig get split
|
| They say they some shooters, I don’t believe these niggas
|
| They say they some hittas, well I don’t need these hittas
|
| Nah, I don’t need these hittas, they gon' turned me into a killer
|
| Tryna flush 'em like a shitter, fire comin' through your pillow
|
| Bet I make a nigga quit, 150 in the stick
|
| I’m just tryna get ya fixed, put this all up in ya mix
|
| Anywhere I go I’m piped down, play with tha Truth and get wiped down
|
| If I go to beef and I bite down, pull up on ya black out like it’s lights down
|
| Ski mask and a driver, gun checkin' for a coast
|
| Let them youngins go to work, they just here to get ya
|
| Why you playin' with a boss, you ain’t graduate the corner
|
| Keep it movin' in a new whip, truck’ll beat you to a coma
|
| Get your bitch cause I was on her, head shot now she a domer
|
| When I’m done I’m getting lost, sorry for you I’m a loner
|
| I don’t care bout 'em I finesse 'em, every diamond on me random
|
| Gang flier then a jet, I just need a place to land' em
|
| I got a stick, let it hit
|
| I’m finna talk my shit
|
| Run up on me get brrr
|
| Hoes all in your fit
|
| Run up on me get hit
|
| Let me talk my shit
|
| Bet I talk with the stick
|
| I ain’t tryna hear shit
|
| Air it out to my man con, I’ma shoot y’all and some
|
| When I pull up with a stick, we gon' hold you for ransom
|
| My gun shaking, hold me
|
| Like I got a nose bleed
|
| Bukuboobukuboobooboomboom
|
| Like Pac nigga, you can’t hold me
|
| Tryna turn up on me, get shot in the mouth
|
| We ain’t playing bitch, not in the South
|
| I kill ya outside, and not in the house
|
| I got respect for your momma, but not your spouse
|
| I tie that bitch up and rape her too
|
| Bitch show me the bricks, the boy got an account
|
| Twenty two in ya stomach, and bitch runnin' a leg
|
| Keep squirming around and get one in the head
|
| Boy I’m gon' out you, I don’t nothing 'bout you
|
| It’s Hustle Gang, you don’t care bout who?
|
| Bout to pull quick, cause y’all ain’t doin' shit
|
| I load the machine gun up out you
|
| Brrrr brr brr brr pa pa pa, ya feel me
|
| I got a stick, let it hit
|
| I’m finna talk my shit
|
| Run up on me get brrr
|
| Hoes all in your fit
|
| Run up on me get hit
|
| Let me talk my shit
|
| Bet I talk with the stick
|
| I ain’t tryna hear shit
|
| I got a stick, let it hit
|
| I’m finna talk my shit
|
| Run up on me get brrr
|
| Hoes all in your fit
|
| Run up on me get hit
|
| Let me talk my shit
|
| Bet I talk with the stick
|
| I ain’t tryna hear shit |