Lyrics:
you got me curious, you probably look better when you dead
Nine by the spine, fifth in the holst'
Scum bag, it's them D-Block boys, Daddy, Kiss
nigga looking hoe gear in the whole shit
The fo fo's is big and all that ol' shit
Protect the heart of you, both it
You better check ya gun cause you
armor, bomb ya!
So quick to test us, nigga wanna crash me, eat dust
For the love of the lust, niggas busting on us
Hit 'em up with the buck, 12-gauge
underrated'
You gotta be retarded if I
Ain't one of ya favorite
I was told that I'm the greatest
Alive by some of the greatest
Some of my haters transitioning
you tumble
Now when you try to get up, motherfucker, you stumbled
Now it's a must that I can bust, from the shots from my 12 gauge
Dust to get your
guage mossberg
The nigga said "yo, what's for sale"
And the bitch came out with a bag of ya-yo
She made the drop and got the 20 dollars
From a smoked
please
Just got served by little niggas on the 10-speed
12 years old, got bumps they can't keep
A straight killer, a fool, a lil' ass gee
God
lookin up cuz I just engaged him
I wuz like 12 when I learnt to grip 12 gauges
cnd Mama said you gotta give to get good graces
To really run this shiii
Friday night in my hometown
Ridin out to the ole party spot
Got the 12 gauge on the back rack
Loaded up with some buckshot
Got a shawty hotter than
armor, bomb ya!
So quick to test us, nigga wanna crash me, eat dust
For the love of the lust, niggas busting on us
Hit 'em up with the buck, 12-gauge
Skepta you're a prick, you're not major
Draw for the 12 gauge or 12 gauger
Sum wung san malai pun yo tai omi ay wung sun
Skepta's a battyman
I will end
watching the show
Paying top dolars because they know
When we're on the stage, we're in a mothafuckin' range
So Dre, why don't you get the 12 guage (yeah)
dolars because they know
When we're on the stage, we're in a mothafuckin' range
So Dre, why don't you get the 12 guage [yeah]
And show 'em how
every crime known through the equator
They knew I did it (uh-huh) for havin' blood on my 'gators
My weed'll hit your chest like a double barrel gauge
the surgeon slugs
still pounds when Bobby Steels 12 gauge gonna pay deadly chronicles
We, held up in Gotham take heed and protect your seeds
We fall like all
this here is lit from the hip off His lips
Giving life set ablaze well equipped
Watch him shift He the driver
I'm in a whip being taught losing my grip
this shit
Y'all niggas still engaged
Turn blowouts to 360 waves
How does 12 gauge feel sittin' on ya tongue
On ya lips 'n'
Dippin' with money L in
on stage with my battle axe,
Swing swords like oh my lord,
Good God he flow so hard,
No smoke and mirrors dawg
Microphone killers clique here y'all,
I 1-2
But I don't ever slip
I'm trying to get a grip
Hopefully on your hips
Baby, we should dip
You know I got the bag
That's a hand full of chips
Who could
drop to your knees
That's the position, assume it bitch
You slip and you're soon to get
Fucked up by a lunatic
Decide to pack a gat
Well that's the way I
Shining like some lipgloss
Maybach Rick Ross
Heading to the beach with my girl in her flip-flops
She didn't really mess with the rap or the hip
the way he grip the mic device, is he worth the price?
Most times I can't see his skills, it's microscopic
y'all niggaz ain't makin music son, ya need
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
paroled
Preparin’ for a long drive
As the story begins to unfold
Drivin’ west in Kansas
In a Chevy painted black
Perry and Dick in the front seat
12-gauge
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