Lyrics:
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
be the jumper
12 Gauge I call her rage and love to pump her
Let off a few shots clap clap dump her
And now I'm sitting in my coupe
System banging
the moonlight
Alright livin it up gettin it done out here up in my pickup truck
Got my twelve gauge buck shells rollin em up big buck down
Just load him on up
loaded up the twelve gauge I was barricaded in
He walked right through the fucking wall
Said let the games begin
I am mister rattle shakin' bones
I'm
Whinin' like Jamaican broads
The weed louder than
Bustin' twelve gauges off
Lord, they couldn't hold me with cage
Sayin' these dicks is pussy and
They go
swerve. Up into my bag, cause I gotta get my mask
And shells, to put in this 12 gauge sawed off, get em' all off, nigga yo'
Loss, take it all off, got
to the brothers
Smile, you little human, smile, for you're sane.
By the way, what's sanity? They don't care about it.
In fact, they worry about nothing. They
with the 2-5 and I got ten in the back (Skrrr)
I got twelve in the back (What?)
I get twelve in a stack (ugh)
I've gettin racks by the back (Yeah)
I'm
painted
Handing pros pain
Like Hank had made it
I’m ten toes deep when I make a statement
Hit with twelve palms
Catch a fading
Like a twelve gauge
that pump
Like a twelve gauge shotty when it start to dump
Youse a mystery 'cause you don't know who you runnin' towards
And got history, that shit is
pronouncin it right)
12 gauge unload now your brain exposed
gotta get up out dis game because its gettin to drastic
dodgin bullets cause dey wanna make my
P.O.W.'s got hung
What the fuck do I know about a grenade
All I know is the (????) in my 12 gauge
And what if that pin gets stuck?
Several more casualties
P.O.W.'s got hung
What the fuck do I know about a grenade
All I know is the couch and my 12 gauge
And what if that pin gets stuck?
Several more
I've got to make a decision of whether I live or die
I'd rather just run 'cause either way it's one hell of a choice
[Chorus]
my car is like my own
is wrong
Glaze finna get his mothafuckin' rap on
So would whack DJ's back up off the 12 gauges
Give him some room
While the boom from the stage is
and cage
Fair exchange clicked ya bow wid ya 12-gauge
It's time for me to do this shit for all my years hurtin'
See these other niggas bustin' raps that
call my home
It ain't much, but its something I can call my own
I go to war at any times, at any place
Why yo punk twelve gauge, all in your face
I
pledge allegiance to the 12 gauge Mossberg
I'm that nigga Mr. Sawed-off Leather face got a big gun in your face
Behind that bush and when they roll by
We
Millimeter Ruger
16 shots, hollow points will go through ya
and this? this here? this is a 12 gauge Mossburg kid,
two shots and you can wet like half
his domain
Rode up on him and let him see the twelve gauge
The homey Ty banged him on GP because we stuffed him then we bagged him
Cause he
all these shots
And I never stop
Your girl by my side
She give good top
When I empty out the mag
Watch the bodies drop
Shot shot
Bullets your way make
Loadin' up my Mac, goin' to my crib, to get my twelve-gauge.
One of my boys just got shot, huh.
F***in' around, in that million dollar spot.
A educated
Yo, yuh yo yo
ABR
Aye aye, yeah
Hah, HL DaMaverick, ungh
And YP
Ride with us, come on
You don't really wanna play, no way
We don't really come
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
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