Lyrics LISTEN UP, PT. 2 - OFB

LISTEN UP, PT. 2

Cash
BeatsByLucas
OFB way, gun way, gang way
Get right or get left
Woi, woi
I’m tryna grab man, nap man and attack man (Nap him)
Carry my man on my shoulder like a boombox
Slap man in a black van
I guess I’m too tapped, don’t mad man (Don't mad man)
It gets all peak when I swing my black hand (Ching)
I’ve seen big men turn jello
Crash the rental and hold corn from this hand can (Bow, bow, bow, bow, bow)
SJ, I’m known as a bad man
ZT ain’t safe in the Nine after nine (No, he ain’t)
That’s why the Niners still hiding (Bow, bow)
My whole squads on riding, me, I’m on sliding
Long Samurai like a Viking (Ching, ching)
AB kept driving, me, I would’ve knifed him
Hear the opp boys just typin' (Stop typin')
You know gang-gangs ridin', need me a python
Or I’ll fist him up like Tyson
Yeah, I’m young it’s fun, man live it, man kill it
No sweets in the mash, man fill it (Man fill it)
You want smoke with the gang?
Come, bring it
Best drill it, don’t miss when you shoot, are you kidding?
(Bow, bow)
Don’t miss when you shoot, are you kidding?
In the back of this X3 ding-dong skidding (Skrr)
So bro’s angry, he got them bibbing (Bow, bow)
Devilish thoughts when I see them tripping
Listen Up
In the rain, .32 in my coat (In the dark)
I saw him freeze up when I back this smoke (Bow, bow)
Nowadays everyone’s beefing the O (How can they?)
But it’s calm, we still got smoke for domes (Bow, bow)
Aim up high, dump off or blow
Het poked, my fifteen garn' rip through clothes (Ching, ching)
Get touched, no hope, get rich, not broke
For the opps, this beef can’t hold (No way, no way)
And what’s this mans seen on UDN?
(What's this?)
Another Nine boy tryna send for the gang
Oh shit, he ain’t rid for his friend (Oh shit)
I said he don’t do that again (No way)
This west ting tryna line them up
I guess everything’s fucked if I rise it up (Bow, bow)
On the Nine block, made Star 9 buss
Get touched, no way can that boy try duss (Woi, woi)
This long nose can’t fit in my coat
Half it, half it 'till it fits in proper (Chop it, chop it)
This bruck back come big like a chopper (Big)
We burn our garms and hit Foot Locker (Burn them)
Rise it up, tryna spot me an opper
My bro could’ve made it playing soccer (Could've made it)
My head back still criss like Tucker
Circle the Nine tryna ching up a fucker (Listen up, listen up)
Ching him up, head straight to the blocka (Ching, ching)
Step on the gas, lay low from a chopper (Skrr, skrr)
Drive thru', I ain’t buying a Whopper
I’m doing this drill with bro, he a shotter
.38 lead, come taste this copper
Chest shot, head shot, do up a sucker (Mad)
This Rambo slides in like butter
The Nine where we go to juice this cutter (Woi, woi)
I’m tryna grab man, nap man and attack man (Nap him)
Carry my man on my shoulder like a boombox
Slap man in a black van
I guess I’m too tapped, don’t mad man (Don't mad man)
It gets all peak when I swing my black hand (Ching)
I’ve seen big men turn jello
Crash the rental and hold corn from this hand can (Bow, bow, bow, bow, bow)
SJ, I’m known as a bad man
ZT ain’t safe in the Nine after nine (No, he ain’t)
That’s why the Niners still hiding (Bow, bow)
My whole squads on riding, me, I’m on sliding
Long Samurai like a Viking (Ching, ching)
AB kept driving, me, I would’ve knifed him
Hear the opp boys just typin' (Stop typin')
You know gang-gangs ridin', need me a python
Or I’ll fist him up like Tyson