Lyrics

You know what the fuck goin' on It's your boy, King Von We in this bitch, Stretch Gang Get Back Gang, that my boy 30 Deep in this bitch Oh yeah, go crazy in this bitch You the same nigga duckin' Rec' in jail, tuckin' your tail I put 10 on him, and 10 on him Just sent that shit through Zelle I told pistol "Whack the bitch" He get locked up, he makin' bail Swisha known for crackin' shit He catch a roach, another L "Grimeyy this" and "Grimeyy that" Bitch, keep my name out your mouth All that cappin' bout some murders They know that ain't what they 'bout Catch him with his baby mama Hit that bitch all in her scalp I've been runnin' up my numbers Gang'll never see a drought We ain't been hot since Nelly 'n them I put my city on my back C & C and Ville gang You know I'm fuckin' with the tracc The opps got booked for stealing phones? Tell the feds to free the rats Bitch tried to charge me for some coochie So I kicked her out the trap What the fuck happened to dude? He got hit all in his head! (Damn!) "Grimeyy please, let him breathe!" Shouldn't have said what he said If them crackers come and get me I'ma grow me out some dreads Crazy E do drills for free But he work better off the meds I put 10 on him and 10 on him That's why them niggas droppin' Tell my bitch to wheel him in So we could knock out all his pasta I've been Gucci in Miami Don't get hit up with this flakka Opps slide, Brick Squad When they be shootin' niggas n pasta Ask DP what I was doin' before I flew out to Miami Fuck the floor, hit through the 50 make them roach niggas panic How the fuck y'all let me get the ups And y'all was outside lampin' I let Murda out on 50, he caught him slippin' so we stamp him Shoutout K9 Wavy Navy, know I fuck with NLE (Crip!) I got bitches all in Cali, got a bitch in NYC Dallas, Texas, Calabassas, know they fuck with 30 Deep Don't make me call up OTF, DQ gon' slang that ARP Lil Reggie threw up on a drill, he seen me take his head off You try to take off with a P, TayTay gon' take your legs off Tony Montana, keep a hammer, come see what this lead 'bout 30 Deep the gang, that's what I bang I did some time in bledball Got in the jam and started yappin', you could call him TED Talk We known for shooting niggas in the back, so don't you run off Any weather, we gon' serve it, we gon' get the birds off Get the witness, we gon' kill him 'fore he get his words out Yeah, we droppin' the opps, I hit two in a row It's a hundred-some shots when we step in the show If I go broke, I'ma stretch me a 'bow Say I shot who? What you talkin' 'bout bro? Reach for my chain, put a tag on your toe I'm in the studio high as a hoe If you try to rob me, it's a high and a low The high is the face shot, the low is the blow Shot in the crowd, he died, I ain't know Shoot in the air, 'cause his soul was floatin' Get a nigga killed, then put him in a rhyme Bitch, I'm a murder poet Shoot a nigga like a Polaroid My dawg caught a body, I told him, "Do it" Whenever we see him, we gettin' into it My bullets don't stutter, them bitches, they fluent Pull up, and hop out, I spray, spray, spray (we spray, spray, spray) Always gotta keep me a 'K or a Drac' (brr brr) Nigga play, swear to God we shoot him in the face It's broad day with that murder shit 'Cause we gon' beat the case (ye, aye)
Writer(s): Igor Padoriv, Arthur James Pressley Iii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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