Lyrics:
hit that shell that hollow
Tip will go threw you contact hop
Smoke from the chronic got me feelin' demonic
Keep one in the head for
Any nigga that want
she strip niggaa tip niggaa tip her tip her
If you ain't talkin about money you Ain't talk about shit
When I pull up to the spot why dat Bitch get lit
gon face shot the bitch
Know my Glock gon stu- stu- stutter switch
Hollow tip cut shit like uh
Hold on
Hollow tip cut shit like Butter
Stick
Walk around
Wish I could be a little more mature
Did my time, did myself for sure
River wide, got myself afloat
Demons die if I don't support
Demons die if I
You left a hollow place
There's not a stone to mark
Where I used to have a heart
There were times when I would
hold you
And feel
couldn't, watch my enemies and watch my friends
I live the life of a young nigga wantin to ball
I said, mama pray when I walk the halls
I got 3rd Ward niggaz
anymore
Don't want your kisses, that's for sure
I die each time I hear this sound
Here he comes, that's Cathy's clown
When you see me shed a tear
Two left feet, but oh, so neat has Sweet Georgia Brown.
They all sigh and wanna die for Sweet Georgia Brown,
I'll tell you just why, you know I don't
I'm rich like lotto
Fundamentally I just can't follow
Or get sentimental when witnessing my bro's
Divin, duckin, dodgin from hollow
Point bullets
Sweet Georgia Brown.
They all sigh and wanna die for Sweet Georgia Brown,
I'll tell you just why, you know I don't lie (not much!).
All those tips
beam hollow tips rubber grip on it
Night vision through the sight when
I grip on it
My nine got an extended clip on it
My tech got all kind of shit on it
Crowded streets all cleared away
One by one
Hollow heroes separate
As they run
You're so cold
Keep your hand in mine
Wise men wonder while
don't want to start
Any blasphemous rumors
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humor
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing
I
'bout me
I drive the stolen car because it's faster (skrrt, skrrt)
I took off on these niggas, but no NASA
My slime know if I die, he a rich bastard
on my hip
You see that rubber grip
Don't have a half a clue
Them boxes for hollow tips
I've got more Oxy than a pharmacy
Also, I keep action clips, when I
armed and reckless
On the streets with a death wish
Don't hide when you see me, I'm on the guestlist
Ante up!
Show no mercy, B.K., nigga, thirsty
don't want to start
Any blasphemous rumors
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humor
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing
I
Mister, you may, have traveled near or far,
But you haven't seen the country,
till you've seen the country by car!
Mister, may I, recommend
off the straight and I roll
When you slip, hollow tips are sharper than an arrow
Bout to swang by that sun, is wait for me be right back
I'ma roll
barbecues
Mobbin' crews, strippin' n****s, robbin' crews
And put him speechless when I made him eat this
Hollow tip, and you can follow grip
You be like
Now flip flop and fly I don't care if I die
Don't ever leave me don't you ever say goodbye
Oh when I get lonesome I jump on the telephone
When I
your name off the list
Cut your wrist
You know the issue
I'm official
When you die none of your niggas is really goin' miss you
Flipmode squad
a big oak on the other side
Where I took my grandpa's pocket knife
And I carved their names with tears in my eyes
When we join grandma, and the by
from the flo' two sets of hoes
K west to go
Let me talk on this let me walk on this
Mark Spitz extra clips of hollow tips
I'm full throttle with Chicago
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