Search results for 'Load Far Pointer in GS'

you want?)
Yo keys, G-S 3's, the papes
Busing in bitches
making imperionts late
cleaning out cribs
coke crums off the plate
niggas real protctive
young

Young G's Perspective

Junior M.A.F.I.A., Biggie

Cellblock Compilation, Vol. 2: Face/Off

snakes in the fucking grass, nigga 

Do you know what time is is? 
No friends, J-M 

[Chorus] 
(What you want?) 
Yo keys, G-S 3's, the papes

to load my blick, had to close the door on my kid
Can't see what daddy doin', he peepin' in, clean up crew on my end
Mop up blood and chop off legs

thousand just one verse, my voice a whole load
Eight million dollars up in jewelry, tell my wife to count her own
I just got my sons fitted, tell them

low but somehow still stuck in the trench
I got ooo so far to go you think I got time for your feelings
Niggas love to want yo shoes until they realize

far we come
Keep running up the numbers 'til we get to number one
Look where I'm at now, we ain't in the background
Running through the crowd, real

niggas tryna cash out on the rage
In the crash diamonds, now I need bagasse all in my chain
I got the car, they tryna put like 30 pointers in the face

Ah,

Just so you could fly woah oh oh oh oh
She want drip like mine woah oh oh oh oh

But, shorty i'm far from a saint
Make you faint when i go hard in

to cover up scars
Soul went black, tattooed my heart

Fell from grace, I fell so far
I crash landed, hit ground hard
Fell through earth, I fell in flames

and Jack are on our own island with Benny Scars
I remember when I rapped in school for the love
And my teachers never thought that it would get me far
I

Freddie and Jason and we
Treat the opp block like Elm Street
All of this work in the T
I do that up ‘til I’m wealthy
Hit the opp block and apply that

This culture came from
And what it's really all about
I got you, my nigga, yo, ayo

Count to ten and then come in shootin'
Fuck peace, Silverback the new

know im above par
Yea Its some niggas doubting
Who aint think i would
Make it this far
Got twenty eight Gs in the zip
And im moving it all
And touch

in shock
Kick to your face
Power to my moves
I read all the books
Only real gs understand this shit
Can't stop by girl
We running from the federals
Run

ones move in silence like a stealth op

The drip is Dasani, your bitch a Tsunami
She calling me daddy, I'm calling her mommy
Don't wander too far from

flick 
Big shank on my hip
Big bagz in the whip
With a clip on the far right 
Calm right
Know we got things in the car right 
Elle Mai Ting
If he trip,

I roll with sinners but were a load of winners 
They just ain't realised it yet so watch me blow so I can show my hitta's
Cold world yeah I know them

back like look how far we come boy, aye
I’m riding in some shit you never seen boy, aye
Doing dirt, but my shoes stay clean boy, aye
Hit you with

Focus hold it down sitting on the Thrown
Fuck a middle man ill do it on my Own
Niggaz in the trenches had to load Da chrome
Never switched up never told

Don't cheese me now (na)
Smoke this weed it's loud (ha)
Or you can leave the crowd (what)
It's Only gs allowed (img)

We speeding up (up)
So Don't

Oh my god, stop the music
My bitch is badder than BIA
Made a few Gs off the re-up
Smokin' on Reefer with reefer

Yeah them my brothers just keep up

chances knowing 
I can’t let shit fall

As far as what I need, I need it all
Dem Young Gs that breathe and bleed to ball
Don’t Doubt me them boppers outted