| Tre pound, crack crown
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| Meek Milly, Bloodhound
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| Grimy, thirsty, 'bout it you heard me
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| Glizzy on de-deck
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| Clip whole thirty
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| Looking for these fuck boys to do these niggas dirty
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| Ya play tough I dare you
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| My goons, they balloon shit air you
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| Nah nigga I ain’t trying to hear you
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| And I don’t need no four pound cause I ain’t trying to scare you
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| I just take the nina raw, get up on you near you
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| Action 40 lightning bloody near you, tear you
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| My niggas be riding low
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| Tinted with them choppers though
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| We spin yo block my Mr. Softee, spot you like a domino
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| Simon say he want you dead, I say that you got to go
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| So we gone drop some shit on you Geronimo, asap
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| Make that nigga Diddy bop take that, take that
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| Send him on a trip without a space pack, bow
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| My hood like goons gone wild
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| Where Ernie said he don’t want no beef he want a cow
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| A fool with them tools we don’t even let him touch them
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| Get freaky with them heaters he be trying to finger fuck them
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| Niggas creeping in my main yard, peeking through the window
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| Bird hunting like the gun game on Nintendo
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| Wish that I was there I probably would’ve let them in though
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| And stretch one of them nigga like a limo
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| Trying score a touchdown, nigga fuck around and catch an INO
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| Cause I ain’t never go to sleep n-o, nizzaw
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| Can’t get behind me cause my back to the wizal
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| Gat in my drizzaws, ready to clap izzoff
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| They gon' murder me so I got to murder them first
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| And I gon' kill his brother cousin, him first
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| Give them niggas brim work, chest work
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| They say that that’s the best work
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| So I’m gon' gun them down like an expert, tise
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| Aiming at chu and my mac gon' sneeze
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| My refrigerator put you on freeze
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| Fuck out of here
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| We do them niggas right and get up out of there
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| Same place you put your hat my niggas throwing hollows there
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| I’m loading up the oo-wop
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| Listening to 2Pac
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| I’m a dope boy so the money in the shoe box
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| A hundred grand large, all off of hard
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| I don’t fuck with rappers all y’all frauds
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| Calling all cars, AR-AB got a gun
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| Crack in the bag cause AR-AB got a son
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| And he got to eat, by any means
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| I got two fiends, fuck a hoop dream
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| Make it to the NBA that’s a pipe dream
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| They end up smoking rock out of pipe screen
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| I play the night scene, hard rock pitching
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| Forty-four with the long nose Scott Pippen
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| I put it on the line, I put it on my mom
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| I’ve been shooting niggas since they put it in my palm
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| Put it in my hands, them cooked up grams
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| Where I’m from all the drug dealers was the man
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| So fuck a rap buzz, I got a rap sheet
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| I’m a legend in jail, and trap streets
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| Cass an Swizz like, «AB, juss chill!»
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| You just beat a body and you still trying to kill
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| They talking to a deaf man, forty in my left hand
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| Give a nigga wig shots then look for the next man
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| I shoot 'til the tec jam, then pass
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| A lord take my soul if AR-AB
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| Trying to rob AR-AB niggas asking to die
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| Last nigga tried I was booking that five
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| Years in the cell, I called my little brother
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| He hit both witness, then I got acquitted
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| I wave one hand and my niggas tilt heads
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| I tell them break a leg I ain’t talking show biz
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| I talking your kids, I make them show ribs
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| My gun so big it take his whole head |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Goons Gone Wild Ft. Ar-Ab , by - Meek Mill. Song from the album Flamers 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп