Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gun Talk, artist - Willie D. Date of issue: 05.03.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Gun Talk |
| Da-da-da-da-da-da |
| Da — da — da — da — da |
| Nineteen-muthafuckin-ninety-nine |
| Willie D |
| Retreat or get hit |
| I’m loved by few, hated by many |
| But guess what? |
| I don’t give a shit |
| Fuck it, in the bucket, ready for the drama |
| Finna heat this muthafucka up like Texas in the summer |
| Trauma comin like a cold blue, got your body shakin like jelly |
| Leavin you smelly with bullet wounds to the belly |
| My adversaries want me dead, my survival’s crucial |
| I see caskets in your muthafuckin future |
| If you’re neutral, stay the hell away from me, bitch |
| Cause this rotten nigga’s ain’t never gonna be shit |
| Mom did her best, but I guess her best wasn’t good enough |
| Cause I stopped knockin bitches out when my nuts got bigger |
| Bought me a gun and shot my first nigga |
| Trigger-happy laws suck my cock-suckin balls |
| I have the paramedics cleanin out your fuckin drawers |
| They put my muthafuckin homie in the slammer, black |
| For a stray shooter and a gramm of crack |
| Damn, this track make me wanna eat it up and shit it out |
| Pork made when I hit a cop |
| I’m havin dreams of bloody pictures |
| My adversary makin wishes |
| But I ain’t sparin them bitches |
| I let my gun talk |
| Let it talk, nigga |
| Let it, let it, let it, let it |
| I let my gun talk (2x) |
| What would my gun say if it could talk to you |
| Shut your muthafuckin mouth and put your hands to the roof |
| I promise I won’t shoot, give me all the loot |
| Act cute, and I got a shot for all of you |
| I’m at the end of my rope, I can’t pretend I see hope |
| Descendants of kings and queens, we can’t even escape dope |
| No need for a scape goat, we our own worst enemy |
| Constantly fuckin ourself with no remedy |
| Let me tell it, we ain’t ready for war |
| We ain’t ready for what they got in store |
| From all shores, Geto Boys and Outlawz, frontline soldiers |
| In the midst of battle dumpin on em one-time rollers |
| Hold up |
| Niggas dip when the flame spit, aim to hit |
| Y’all can’t take shit, we came to trip |
| Blame your bitch for suckin on my homeboy’s dick |
| Said she got off a mill, huh, for ridin on my click |
| That’s what you get, never write a check with your mouth |
| That your ass can’t cash, I blast your ass |
| And I ain’t gotta flash a nigga, Willie D’ll pop ya |
| Fuck around, smoke your asses, nigga |
| We got this muthafucka head on lock |
| Until we see results, I don’t care, we won’t stop |
| Hot shots, retarted, we ain’t martyrs, we riders |
| Holler if you hear us, man, I love it when they fear us |
| Oh yeah, it’s them niggas with them triggers that speak on it |
| Six figure killers, whatever you own, we want it |
| Willie D want it, and sucker, I do too |
| Now what the fuck is you gonna do when pistols start talkin to you? |
| When you speak of dope, don’t think of dope, think of me |
| Y-o-u-n-g N-o to the b-l-e |
| Eat MC’s like BLT’s, nigga please |
| You a watergun soldier in blue fatigues |
| Shoot to freeze, eternally you journey with me |
| Losin DT’s, right on the corner, a new street |
| You choose defeat, I choose to win, you lose again |
| Ain’t life grim? |
| I know it was meant |
| My own Glock pistol whipped a nigga in the head |
| Cause he said, «I wouldn’t buy the infrared» |
| My Tec-9 jam and stutter when he get at a hoe |
| So I filed down a pin, made him fully auto |
| Kept talkin shit, seein haters come out and play |
| Tell me he homesick, wanna go back to the Bay |
| So we can ride around the hood and get at Mrs. Glock |
| She was spittin back at us when you and me was on the block |
| My two homies Smith & Wesson wanna fuck Nina Ross |
| Said they gon' rape that bitch if she don’t let em both toss |
| My Uzi change his own clips for me |
| Got my muthafuckin mind playin tricks on me |
| It’s sick, homie |
| Speakin a worldwide language, gun talk, everybody listen |
| Kissin and rubbin my pistol like a pretty picture |
| Goin on a mission, killin niggas that’s talkin shit, and |
| No, we ain’t missin, we aim straight and dippin |
| Bossallini slash killer slash real nigga |
| Fuck Tommy Hilfiger, my Tommy kill niggas |
| Got me smokin on green leafs, thuggin until I’m red-rum |
| Ridin on enemies, mobbin until my death come |