Gassed

Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz Then get back to the cash all I know is racks Money on my mind, picture dollar signs If they chuck em out its fine must been out of line Must be out your fuckin' mind and collide with mine You'll be with the fucking dead like you sodomize If not now paying time like you got a fine Find exactly where you dyin, soon as you recline That look I see in your eye don't mean no surprise And right before you see the dark you gone' know the light My fuego rock his cradle Ima light his top up just like candles on a table Should've knew better than stepping out here in that water Fredo Bet this pump gone em leave looking like he been hit by tomatoes Fucking clown, nothing funny now Touchdown on the prowl, when I come in town Hunt em down, Gun em down with 100 rounds Blaw its not a sound when I come around Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz Then get back to the cash all I know is racks Wings up! MOB! I was born a sinner Imma die a winner Just know I'm ridin with my niggas till we cross the finish Bitch I'm Popeye on that spinach when it come to bidness' Slide that clip in Nina let her blow your ass some kisses Bow! Bow! That's my bitch nigga And she ain't never hesitate to pop that pussy on bitch nigga My side ho is thick, I keep 50 in the clip Pull up on a nigga with the mask on like Link 8 ball corner pocket when I drop you that's it Like he rocking balmain high nigga getting zipped I ain't talking ounces, shotty bounce em then he getting flipped Then its game over like its Lil Flip I'm satch mode when I let that gat blow I'm like Kobe ill give you 60 for that Jazz load That's 2 30s sticking out like a bitch with ass though Fuck that bitch and kick her out Get back to that cash flow Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz Then get back to the cash all I know is racks We gone' get the cream like a fucking rash Hulk Hogan with the stash, hold the gun and cash Take away his future leave him in the past Pull my mac on you dummies you don't want to crash We gone run it up yea, Forest Gump Pockets got the mumps fatter than the clumps All that talking tough that'll get you slumped Hop out, up the pump squeeze it fill em up Then ill pull off leaving shells middle finger 12 Oppose me, mission fail, boy you sick as hell Niggas actors like Denzel till I give em hell Change in em like a well now that nigga pale Steering with my left while I shoot at you with my right hand Kill everybody cold ill turn your block into Iceland Equipment in my trunk I got poles as long as a mic stand Ready to back me up that's at every show like my hype man Squad! Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz Then get back to the cash all I know is racks