Lyrics:
thing I gotta do is hit my wrist with the soda
Niggas thought it was over, but bitch I live by the slogan
I told you
Hop in another one nigga
Get
niggas (word up)
(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine)
Uh
(Ten)
I've been in this game for years, it made me an animal
It's rules
niggas (word up)
(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine)
Uh
(Ten)
I've been in this game for years, it made me an animal
It's rules
for me
First the one
And then came the two and three and four
Five, six, seven, shots from a MAC-11
Platinum producer killed by haters
Tonight
coincidence or by happenstance, it's by design
By the year 2015
They gon' have 70% of our community locked up
I'm talking about blacks gonna be locked up
coincidence or by happenstance, it's by design
By the year 2015
They gon' have 70% of our community locked up
I'm talking about blacks gonna be locked up
year, every year, every year
Cuz every year is our year
Every year, until we need some pallbearers
That's 24/7, 12/52, 365, you bitch ass niggas
Yea,
(Bitch)
Sippin' on bottles, flyin' high on planes
Gotta lotta bad women, I don't even know their names
Toppers and tats, you know I got flame
When I pull
spittin' facts
Couldn't relax, the whole time I had weight up on my back
Be black gon back, I got pistols on deck
They gave 'cause seven flat, how many
1, 2, X is comin' for you
3, 4, you better lock your door
5, 6, get your crucifix
7, 8, don't stay up late
1, 2, X is comin' for you
3, 4,
complain?
I raised your ass bitch, brought your ass out the rain
When you was in the red, without a roof overhead
I helped your ass out, by puttin you in
I tell em, I say
One yourself when 2 niggas run up with 3 gats
A four, five, six shots
Seven like eight claps
Da nine milli throw ten shots
Where ya
seven years
Seven days, seven weeks, seven years
TM-TM
Betrayed by few and I don't fuck with them
These niggas just make me sick, got me coughing out
the talk, 'bout all the guns
But no bodies
Bitch look pretty, but some of them gyal deh
Got no bodies
'Bout you bag grams, who’s your rap fans?
Nobodies
Nigga
many stitches you should know
My gun's my only homie that's it though
Seven days a week and up I grow
Life is real bitch you got to know
Watching your
relationships
Year 21, bitch
Putting the clip in my gun, bitch
You fucked me up bitch, I wanna slice your gut, bitch
I let you have my heart but you only wanted
[Too $hort]
One time it's by Lil' Jon and the Eastside Boyz
Who we talkin to man, who we talkin to
Any nigga that act like a wha (bitch)
Any any
our own few circles 'round the sun
We get it backwards
And our seven years go by like one
Dog years
It's the season of the itch
Dog years
With
There's been times when I flip like acrobats
Fuckin' coast to coast
Chickenheads to hoodrats
Tools to Gats, Lowriders to Ac's
Two years ago my shit was
a castle
Spartan for my sandal
Feed you to my cat that's a Bengal
Blow out your candle
Bitch I
Sleep with my guns in the attic
Ain't a gun addict
Pencil
think my gun was a Crip
Drive by, walk by, bicycle, motorcycle
Killers pulling up in all kinds
14, 15, 12 years old
Young niggas slangin' iron
The moon is full and so are we
We're seven drunken pirates
We're the seven deadly sins
So the years rolled by and several died
And left us somewhat
(Helluva made this beat, baby)
I fuck with 6 Mile, not too much the 7, they freed the 4s
That's your bitch, huh? Well, get her together, she fuckin' bro
I deal with my partner
But no lie I got love for my hometown
I love guns, get money in my hometown
One-seven postcode of my hometown
I walked G's
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