Lyrics Gangster Relief - Stomper, Chino Grande, Lil Minor

Gangster Relief

Every bitch I came across over 30 and shit
But I’m sure they came across the dirtiest dick
I got bitches in New York ready to jump my bones
These bitch boys never think I’m gonna catch em though
A new hyna so fine, with a ass so fly
I got a box full of shells and I’m still outside
I will bail with a drill and leave you drenched in blood
A ski-mask in all black with some matching gloves
I’m just a south east legend, from the dub one three
Matter of fact baby boy I’m just a certified G
With hot shells that I bring
Guaranteed to leave a sting
I’ll rip the flesh off your face
With an AR-15 like
Caus when this shit just crack
These hos gon blame me
Around here we don’t correspond too lightly
Matter of fact I heard these muthafucking feds indicting like uh
Oh ahh I’m fucking with the light
Take a puff hold it in
Bucking Glocks at a cop
We be setting up shop
On them neighborhood street corners
My con funk technician slash dope boy stage performer
Ain’t no need to fake the funk
Homie you don’t wanna
I’ll catch ya slipping when you least expect it
You’s a goner
Bagging fat sacks of glass and I weigh it out
I’m catching, got em hooked like a rainbow trout
About clocking paper even on a rainy day
Get it while you can, homie we bound to die anyway
Sign my soul on the dotted line
If I ain’t clocking royalties
I gotta blast for mine
With a mini snort teen and a plastic nine
Extra clips in my pocket cause I smash when I’m on the grind
And you could bet when I rep and I gain respect
I got that one hitter quitter homie
P Town connect
Well it’s like once upon a time, in the land of the sick
I was a crazy little homie, always starting some shit
Representing the click, no time for playing no games
I hung with killers, drug dealers
No love for cowards and lames
Born to bang, my only mission was to make me a name
Catch me a punk rat vieja, homie blow out his brains
Back in the days, my crazy ways they got me locked in a cage
Shit I was burning in flames, living my life in a rage
Front page I seen my face, now I’m wanted for murder
On the run murder one, you know I’m packing my burner
By the time I was 16, I had them infrared beams
Smoking blunts and busting leans
Slanging dope to them fiends
I had the bitches sucking dick, and breaking bread with a playa
Watching my back for fucking rats
And packing straps for the haters
South east with the streets, that created a king
Born to be one of the realest, out the Sur one three