Lyrics:
died I still want my money
I ain't trippin' by that bitch, my Glock go la-da-da-da
He was wolfin' on the net, my chop said la-da-da-da
He ain't pay me
When you enter the harsh and
Rugged lands of Illy Philly
It was a quarter to one, friday night
Loaded up the guns, jump on the horn
Called up my son
the vision that I viewed
All the chaos was caused by you
I stuck to you like glue
Tryna find someone that's new
Your love for me wasn't true
Ripped my heart
rest up
We scrape that, Land O' Lake that
My dolo rapper get you sent back
Represent the gentlemens who bent that
Flash medallions like Italians, la
Ayy ayy step back motherfucker, watch out!
La la la la la (fuck that, nigga)
We don't give a fuck
Ayy y'all niggas ain't fucking with us, nigga
on my block
(Nah) ngga get got and get whipped (Whopped)
Knocked out his socks by that Glock
(Bop bop bop bop)
Mosama 3Laden, Lil 3 who I be
But I'm
Back in the days, this shit worked quite right
It was the music that got me by, music touch my soul
Music from the ghetto
Ain't nobody tell me how
A bullet in the barrel of a big bad gun
Lying by the river in the park, I do smell good
Still don't remember why my clothes stink like sandalwood
Fresh
head
And angels sing above my bed
No more guns
No more dead daughters and sons
No more guns
Let my friends be the last ones
With malice towards none
the gang)
Pull out the gun
(Pull out the gun)
I swear I dégainn
(Ehh)
An ka de guerre
Ouais
An ka dégainn
(Woo)

My failures help me grow
The squad is safe
see my gun smoke
I'm always ridin' and cruisin' got the bass boomin'
My son ridin' shotgun in my whick whack lowridin' Cadillac
Always got a gat, I
you
I might do it just to show you
I might do it just to show you
We be like la, la, la, la
Say I won't sell my shoes and take my kids to Chuck E
God Hates Gucci
And
He don't wear Louie
Don't love guns
Guess who yours truly
Young Tim Duncan
With a bun in the oven
Jimmy and Chrissy
We was kissin
This is one for my constituents
Two for the show
And three for
Barbiturates
For drugs sex money
And guns
The omnipotent
For dough boys
Rickies and treys
my guns
I kill for fun
They scream for help
But no one comes
They pray for God
But he is gone
They're all dead
I'm sick in my head
And next Christmas
When you enter the harsh and
Rugged lands of Illy Philly
It was a quarter to one, friday night
Loaded up the guns, jump on the horn
Called up my son
a pistol grip shot gun
My other one weighs a ton, son, kid, loc, dog, whatever
Fuckin' with the Likwit will get your head severed
WhoRidas get it
know that cool niggaro, riding on a metro
With the Cold 4-0, I really don't like to promote guns
But I got one, a pistol grip shot gun
My other one
be a painter man
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la
By the rivers
By the rivers
By the rivers of babylon
Where we sat down
Yeah we
Smoke up in the Street
Looking for the light within me
Searching in my soul
I don't eva wanna fire no gun
I don't eva wanna fire no gun
I`ve been
of not seeing anything through
I don't light fires
But I watch them burn
I'm not taught a thing by anything I learn
I play my part, I always will
I
I dig Modigliani (1)
Jolson doin' "Swanee (2) "
Several maharanee (3) are my intimates, too
I played with Montovani (4)
That's a lot of string to get
a switchy gun
Switchy, switchy, make him do a dance, I know he pissed his pants
Simi automatic, I turn it fully it's a box on the back of my gun
Oh he havin
angle
But I always get ahead my god
I coulda swore she's an angel
Tryna not to lack don't count my flaws
I ain't ever been to San Diego
LAs' cash where
.jpg/300px-GNR_London_Stadium_2017_3_(cropped).jpg "Guns N' Roses")
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