| Wishing a nigga and his click, would think about jumping me
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| Six enexchangable clips, seventeen bullets in each
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| That’s a hundred and twelve reasons, a whole street could be deceased
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| Right when I was trying to change, fellas start playing games
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| Brought me back to reality, my sanity’s now insane
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| I be busting for nothing homie, I’m addicted to shots
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| Blame my hood, cause that’s just the way it is on my block
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| I got a bad attitude, cause I’m use to beefing
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| They’ll never take me alive, the reason for no sleeping
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| So when a nigga come after me, I’ma hit him where it hurt
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| I’ll let him make it, but his mama and daddy gon see a hearse
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| Fuck a driveby, I want him to look me in my eyes
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| Let him call Junior on his mobile, just to say goodbye
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| So call my name out, and watch how everybody run for cover
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| Cause they know I’m a heartless motherfucker, until I die
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| This be the realest shit I ever wrote, and you can quote me cuz
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| I’m from the block where we hopeless thugs, but we suppose to thug
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| A lot of niggas hate, a few show love
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| But that only keep me focused cuz, I got my heater with me
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| So when them niggas, try to get me on the creep no
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| They getting merked, in they fresh white T oooh
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| H-Wood, be the set I claim
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| Southside we connected mayn, world respected mayn
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| Hitman, be the number one honcho
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| Get that white from Poppy, and that green from Poncho
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| Slab riding, got me loaded and cocked
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| Much love to my nigga Trae, good looking out
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| I heard they coming to get me, but it ain’t gon be no easy task
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| See me with the Mac-11, sending fifty through your glass
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| Am I losing my mind, I don’t know and I don’t really give a damn
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| But these motherfuckers, gon know who I am
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| Plus Dinkie shot a kite, and told me watch out for you hating ass niggas
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| Run up on me, I’ll be putting you in a grave ass niggas
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| Now I’m riding, with my super entourage of hot shells
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| And if they catch up wit ya, garunteed they bringing hell
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| Let me take you to, another level of mind
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| To get a closer look at death, before I flatten your line
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| You done it this time, and ain’t no way you getting away
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| I put this on me and my son, it won’t be safe where you stay
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| That nigga don’t wanna see me, with my black mask
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| But that’s alright, cause I got a scheme for his black ass
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| See I believe, in creeping with reacons
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| I know where your girlfriend stay bitch, you be there every weekend
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| Riding up in a Regal, D-Eagle under the seat
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| I’m about to put six of them thangs, up under your meat
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| You got a hole in your neck, you need IV’s to eat
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| I gotta show you the real way, of greeting niggas with heat
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| I pull a black Mac up out the pack, walking from that Cadillac
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| Sipping on a low O-E, fired up like a battlecat
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| Niggas don’t wanna take it there, with Lil' Boss
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| I be fucking with B.D.'s, bitch I can get ya lost
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| I’m sick and tired of you niggas underestimating, and thinking I’m fake
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| You’ll be the first example, of catching a slug to the chest plate
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| Break niggas for fun, when they try to use guns
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| I can throw hands, but you niggas so quick to try to run
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| To the trunk and wanna dump, old chump ass nigga
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| You’ll get found, floating off in a swamp ass nigga
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| My click killas, and I’m the young guerilla of the pack
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| The true definition, of making niggas back-back
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| Fuck a size, I’ll demolish 'em all small or tall
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| It don’t matter, bet your bitch ass fall
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| More or less so go on plex, if you think you’re ready
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| Buck shots’ll stretch your flesh, like spaghetti
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| I guess you thought that it was over, when you pulled the 12 gauge
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| And I won’t get no rest, until I see you in your grave
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| Last time to start checking when I hit the block, looking for cats
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| And since we playing dirty, you just might catch four in your back
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| Nonstop, I bet you niggas finna know about me
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| I’m only 18, but still I’m classified as a G
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| I run with the best, them niggas that’ll leave you wrapped up
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| In a black truck, you don’t want the heat clapped up
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| Better back up, nigga I’m a asshole
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| Everything in this camp, surrounded by the cash flow
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| Plus I live on the block, I know I’m being watched by the FED’s
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| But I’ma still put a hot slug, dead in your braids |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song More or Less (S.L.A.B.ed), artist - Trae Tha Truth. Album song Plex, Vol. 4.5 (S.L.A.B.ed), in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп