Lyrics:
to the ground
They'll hunt your fame with a 1,2 smile
They'll hunt u down with a 12 shot gauge
and hit up your spot with a 1,2
I was in jail with a couple
shotgun
Gave that bitch molly and a 12 gauge bet that hoe pop one
Ooh I got the ratchets on me
Fuck the couch I'm on the floor with these ratchets homie
rifles and Tecs
And breakin' niggas' necks like bad checks
Outrageous with 12 gauges, 'L.A. Times' front pages
Leaving mingled bodies hangin' on stages
ass, she sucking dick cause she think it's fun
Bust on her face, now she glazed like a honey bun
12 gauge around, but you know that's not the only gun
can't even count one
Two black guns, I don't know maybe they're Magnums
I don't know what the fuck they're called, I just grab them
12-gauge dumps in
(Hey)
Theres nothing better then a hype night on a friday night
Bad vibes good vibes kryptonite
Let's get hype on a friday night
Make it hype tonight
letting you in
I guess I only speak and interrupt
But it means so much when you tell me that "I'm good enough"
You've stayed by my side and I act like
Aye
(PLUG)
Aye
Aye
I do this shit by myself, aye, I don’t need no help
Aye, nigga try me it’s a wrap like Santa’s elves
Aye, nigga want some smoke?
set it, just checkin your mic
Droppin hot shit I like
So throw up your hands bitch, run your ice
Cause I'll go third, and he'll go fourth
By
a ninja
Cut like a razor blade so fast
Other DJ's say, "damn"
If my rhyme was a drug
I'd sell it by the gram
Keep my composure when it's time to get
hype but
smell like doo-doo cause they can't even wipe butt
Stuck-up and quite conceited
Your one hit song, all year long, at shows
everybody knows it
they gon' let that bih spray
Gang, snipe 'em, bang bang
No drive-by, this personal, hit you close range
If we really beefin' why you put it
a[00:14.79]Religious guise and pulled by their own whims[00:17.24]It's a tough thing to feel like[00:18.66]Your gifts place you on a stage[00:20.21]When some
Messi
Send your address then undress me
Make her legs shake, til the sun is up, imma run it up
Yeah i'm gonna run it up
This a big stun, 12 gauge shotgun
off 12 gauge pumpy.
Hook: Pressurize mek it Pressurize, sparks pon di nozzle bright anno pepper light, too inna di chatting mi nuh too socialize, pull
don't want beef, but I keep heat, in between the seats
Tucked in the trunk thats a 12gauge thats a fist pump
I keep it ready, reach back, stay
your civil rights
We get bars, big cars, cigars
12 gauge salute to your face to face God
Icon, marathon mack, where the bitches at?
Raise it back,
Hush little baby, don't you cry
Your mama's got a 12-gauge held up high
And if that boy ever breaks your heart
I'll send him where the moon meets
Hush little baby don’t you cry
Your mamas got a 12 gauge held up high
And if that boy ever breaks your heart
I’ll send him where the moon meets
Yeah fuck you niggas mean
Bout to load this beat and blow the shit to smithereens
I don't spit unless it burns inside like Listerine
I try keep my
Turn off the L, don't burn the seats
Watch out for 12
Dig in like cleats
Whats that smell? its victory
Rang doorbell, showed artillery
Now we on the way
Shooting shit for fun
Evergreen came from the fucking slums
Mother fuckers they talk they really don't want none
12 gauge by my fucking side
Chromed out
Shooting shit for fun
Evergreen came from the fucking slums
Mother fuckers they talk they really don't want none
12 gauge by my fucking side
Chromed out
In Studio 54, Waiting to Exhale
When in the world 12 disciples, in this life cycle
That's trifle, so my impact's a twenty gauge rifle
Fifty/fifty
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