Chiraq (Freestyle) lyrics

[Verse 1]
Long clip hanging out that P95, Ruger c*cked
We mobsters, catch you eating that pasta knock your noodle out
I'm from New Orleans, East Side where make a n*gga kill you for a bag of dope
When the drought comes we selling soap, we selling dreams, we selling hope
Assault rifle with a telescope, I can hit a n*gga from long distance
Peyton Manning, strong precision, two arms stroking like I'm going swimming
Whats wrong with them, they sleeping on me, I'ma start handing out pillows n*gga
Then use the same pillow to muzzle the shot coming of my pistol n*gga
Get your issue, and I ain't talking about magazines to read to
I'ma read you with a magazine with 30 shots and leave you
Lethal weapon I'm Danny Glover, shoutout my n*gga, Thugga Thugga
Choppas in the backseat, but where I'm from we call em cutters
I'm not the one to be f*cked with, don't battle rap with me n*gga
Get ampted up to get amputated n*gga
Turn the booth to a war zone, any rapper get killed quick, Construction worker with tools on our belts, n*gga We drill sh*t
I spit nothing but ill sh*t, somebody go call the doc
Make a phone call to my shooter n*gga, thats what I call, calling shots
Ridin round bumpin Soulja Slim while my young n*ggas snort a bag of dope
He got a red rag no stopping him, if I green light you, you gotta go
I'm in LA with the homie Term, I hit him its emergency
He coming through with them mob n*ggas, they paint these streets burgundy
I ain't come her to play n*gga, its finna be a hot summer
Guddaville 4 coming soon, and LAT its our summer
n*ggas sitting on twitter talking that tough sh*t they hella scary
I send n*ggas with masks to send your sh*t back to Neveruary
Shoutout to my team yeah, Carter V on the way
My sis Nicki bout to drop something so you rap b*tches move out the way
Drizzy that's my brother n*gga he know I'm one call away
Tyga Tyga I see you youngin, don't worry let these n*ggas hate
'Bout to catch a flight to Miami and sit down with my three bosses
All money, f*ck b*tches, whole stone cold like Steve Austin
n*ggas ask when my album dropping, b*tch whenever I want to
I could stand on my own two
But I'm staying loyal to my own crew
Young Money Cash Money, bank accounts on overload
My mixtapes are Free Crack like Lil Bibby make 'em overdose
I been hot, I make these n*ggas bow down and kiss the ring
Walk straight in K.O.D. and balled on 'em like Mr. Clean
Make your girlfriend polish me, we call it shining head like Mr. Clean
Glock 40 with a beam on it, that red laser don't miss a thing
Young Gudda, high yella, I'm back on my Ross sh*t
Take it back to '02, I'm back on my squad sh*t n*gga
High yella, Young Gudda, I'm back on my Ross sh*t
I take it back to '02, I'm back on my squad sh*t n*gga