Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 100 Bars & Gunnin', artist - Ramirez. Date of issue: 09.02.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
100 Bars & Gunnin' |
| strap that nigga |
| From the M.O.B., run this shit down like |
| From the M.O.B., run this shit down like |
| Bitch, I’m on a mission, my destination the grave |
| Aim my chopper to your head, then I take off your toupée |
| Mobbin' four deep inside of a bucket, the transmission slippin' |
| Had a conversation with the devil, told me, «Get to rippin'» |
| It’s the Grey*59, throw your six up in the air |
| Darkness fallin' from above, step across and, bitch, beware |
| I’d rather die from my feet than to live up on my knees |
| True soldier from the trenches, trappin' out the seven seas |
| Fuck with me and get your wig pulled back |
| Steady swervin' off a Xanax that I put inside the shack |
| This shit is kickin' in and I just don’t know how to act |
| My remembrance is enough, 'bout to pull a hijack |
| Crash a plane inside of the buildin', now watch the bodies burn |
| As the world turns, police sirens comin' but I’m not concerned |
| Suicidal, lay my ashes inside of a gold urn |
| Shootin' at these bustas so you know murder is what I yearn |
| Get a call, it from my uncle, tell me, «Nephew, what you doin'? |
| Come to M-town, we can get some money and pick up the chewin'» |
| Ball 'til the day I fall, hundred gold spokes when I crawl |
| Keep my back along the wall, watch another pussy fall |
| Mind fucked up, keep the toolie like I’m Bobby, mane |
| In the kitchen whippin' up a storm and standin' in the rain |
| 'Til you put me in the dirt and leave my body to decay |
| Run up, bitch you don’t wanna |
| I keep my gun up 'til the sun up, creep on the come up |
| I push this gat into your stomach, bitch, I’m the gunner |
| You think you ballin', you no stunna 'cause I’m a hunter |
| This is a stick-up, lay it down when I come around, a mask over my face |
| Buckin' at the window, drive-by, bitches give me space |
| I don’t need to talk to nobody 'cause all you suckas fake |
| Bitch, you mad about the fact that your music don’t make plays |
| Sellin' reposts, you’s a ho, I need ten to spit a flow |
| Twenty bands up at your show, Gorilla comin' out the sko |
| Brown paper bagged up, St. Ides sippin' |
| Like I said in the beginning, I’m a killa on a mission |
| Better back the fuck up 'cause shit’s about to get real |
| Call upon the fucking devil so him and I cut a deal |
| Searchin' for another meal, could give a fuck how you feel |
| Bitch, you fuckin' with the wrong one, I’m 'bout to make you squeal |