Lyrics:
my gun home, here borrow mine
Pop the nine like a judge "All rise"
This gun'll knock plants off tall guys
We value-packs, y'all small fries
Yo, I'm
And fuck niggas gonna lose a lot
Knock knock nigga, come feel the drama
If the bed low I'mma stack the crown
Up the contraband in between my gun
Before
grab the mic tight strike like a rattle bring
Rhymes and nines to the mutherf***in' battle
So sun down to sun up run up with my gun up
All brakes get
let it
Die
Even thou I- can't hold you I-feel you close by my side
I- am burying you deeply in my thoughts until I- die- from the depth of my inside
La
me, but we were pen pals for years
I think he was put off by my owning guns
But it's a difficult area that my family lives in
We got death threats
in you"
Fuck around, get some metal in you
My name ring bells, I could sell out whatever venue
For us, by us
For us, by us
For us, by us
For
Aye Geez
How I
What I said on that hook again cutty?
Matter fact pass me another pill
I'm bussing you heard
Holll up
Gun Powder in my DNA
My lyrics feel like a gun
Killing the beats one by one
I just do this shit for fun
All this models on the gram
They all just a scam
Now it feels like
know that I'll always be true
Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand
Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand
Gonna shoot my old
ignorant fools
Find yourself in the hustle rocking free mint shoes
Middle week, Michigan brand rap and gun rule
Verse 1:
Me and my man contemplating
unit
Catch me by myself
I'm only sayin' bullshit
I don't switch up, I won't change
You gonn' have to catch my
Body to sell my brain
An' that's simply
be? We was team
I guess we got divided by the cream
Fbi ran in my crib, where I live
Snatched my wife, child welfare took my kids
Yo I can't live, I
see the pound
Got a little gut so gat sit tucked (fuck)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang the roscoe to the sunrise, plus I stay dumb high
the wifebeat'
Three-X-T, I'm Lincoln now, you can't see the pound
Got a little gut, so gat sit tucked (fuck)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang the Roscoe
the wifebeat'
Three-X-T, I'm Lincoln now, you can't see the pound
Got a little gut, so gat sit tucked (fuck)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang the Roscoe
the sweetness of your years
By and by we'll all learn the taste of tears.
Open your eyes my growing son
There is hard work to be done
Follow your father to his
Yea, that's my people's right there man
With blood over there? Yea, that's my people
Guns over there? Yea, that's my people
Every time they pass me
like a mu'fucking trolley
Chopper gon' blow him from LA to Raleigh
Lean in my cup and I'm popping a molly
Stay with the gas, I ain't talking unleaded
So
my gun got a stutter
Wipe out these playas like I'm cleaning clutter
Cruising through Miami
Heat on me like Baldwin
Breeze in my face
Now That is some
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Can you hear me now?
This is not the girl you used to know
Talking to you now
I
dummy brick, I compressed it together
Before he came already had a tester together
Think you gon' get one up on me? Never
I up the gun on whoever
My best
to get money by Any Given Means
All about dollars call her amazing
Be on the Block I'm willing to do that
Bringing them guns I'm willing to shoot that
I was knee high knew I had to live that high life sippin’ on that
By my pool with too many bitches handing me some Jack
And for me there's only one
approaching my body in the park
You got me shocked by the way you dance
I'm pretty sure that you like this romance
'Cause every time that you dance in the light
.jpg/300px-GNR_London_Stadium_2017_3_(cropped).jpg "Guns N' Roses")
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