They're runnin', they're runnin'

They're runnin', they're runnin' again

We're gunnin', we're gunnin'

We're gunnin', we're gunnin' for them

They're runnin', they're runnin'

They're runnin', they're runnin' again

We're gunnin', we're gunnin'

We're gunnin', we're gunnin' for them

Nah, this ain't a diss

But you rappers are takin' the piss

Now I'm aimin', I ain't gonna miss

Yeah, you know how I handle my biz

BA finally got him a chit

Now he's all on that gossipy shit

Like he ain't been livin' his whole life beggin' for food like he's Oliver Twist

In that yellow Lamb', that's a polleny whip

It's Fredo, the boss of the strip

Yeah, he said my name out in public

So I told my savage, "It's gotta be quick"

If I keep up the pressure, they'll probably snitch

I got the drop on your crib

**** be actin' like gangstas

But, no, that's not what it is

If Marlow didn't keep gettin' robbed every other week, he'd probably be lit

I guess we won't know 'cause that donny's a victim

Big Freddie, I'm back on my shit

Not too long till I'm back on my strip

Little bro got a MAC in the whip

Think they hate 'cause there's racks on my wrists

And I open up chicks like they're packets of crisps

Woah

Fistar's home, but he ain't tryna go and get back for his ****

Too busy showin' off his back with the rips

Damn, I know that Max would be pissed

I'm maxin' my jibs, **** maxin' their dibs

I feel actually tricked

**** actin' like Crips

When deep down, they got a passion for jumpin' on crocodiles' backs in the sticks

Kinda gangsta is this?

**** nerdy and certainly rookies

Are you gangstas or personal bookies?

Caught— and we turned him to Cookies

Now the broskis are burnin' their hoodies

And phonin' for goodies, you know how it goes

But I heard you ain't playin' your role

So, no, maybe you don't

Oh, okay

She was talkin' like she'll manage the dick

Put her on her back, went in real deep

Legs shakin' like she's havin' a fit

Heard that they both got a show, so I pattern that quick

Boy, don't be lackin' for chicks

If I had a pound for every time I put my— on the 6, I'd be actually rich

They're runnin', and runnin', and runnin'

I'm talkin' 'bout Clavish's clique

All they wanted was Maccie and chips

Ended up in the back with the dips

And my baddie don't have any tits

But makes up for this with her back and her hips

Still offin' a whole load of cargo

Just gave three hundred racks to Riccardo

We're drinkin' tonight

Told her, "I ain't even drivin', let's book the Viano"

She told me I'm lookin' so gangster and grown when I rock that Loro Piana

My youngin just got him a Cuban

Didn't buy it, he stole it from Marlow

Just sent a lil' youngin to O

But he can't even go to Chicago

They're runnin', they're runnin'

They're runnin', they're runnin' again

We're gunnin', we're gunnin'

We're gunnin', we're gunnin' for them

They're runnin', they're runnin'

They're runnin', they're runnin' again

We're gunnin', we're gunnin'

We're gunnin', we're gunnin' for them