Get Ya Gun lyrics

by

J.R. Writer


[Verse 1]
That's my word (word!); I flip herb, birds
Coke, crack, dope, smack; oh, snap! Heard, herb
Should talk in sign language, y'all don't deserve words
I get my serve swerved; may leave 'em 1st, 3rd
Stop lyin'? Lie for what? Steer a whip, drive it up
Steer a brick, pie it up; supply the stuff, fly as f*ck
Said word, (word!) n*gga; just observe, I disturb
From New Jerse to the curb, make absurd figures
Stop lyin', picture me poutin'; dog, could you fish in a fountain?
Bad b*tch switchin' and bouncin' (in what?) in that Christian Louboutin
Word, on everything, on everything, you still in spinners
Know what I feel in the winter? 80 degrees, deal with a winner
I know some rowdy rowdy n*ggas that rock a Audi proudly
One thing 'bout me: doubt me, bounty Saudi shout me
I'm sprayin' it well, I'm playin' the sell
Fifty mil like David Chappelle, my paper propel
Won't lay in a cell; you takin' a L

[Hook]
This is fun, n*gga; you should run, n*gga
Get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya gun, n*gga
This is fun, n*gga; you a dumb n*gga
Get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya gun, n*gga
What let's go to the car, what let's go to the car
Get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya gun, n*gga
[Interlude - Beth Melillo]
Did you know that a 3 year old has the physical strength to shoot a gun?
Juvenile gun possession is a problem
If a child obtains an improperly stored gun
The adult owner is criminally liable (killa!)
The restrictions are endless

[Verse 2]
Yo, sell you crack for a dub, it's a package of love (it's all love)
The car's far, I'm at the bar, got my gat in the club (poppin' Sizzurp)
And my ratchet is snub (snub), just for you actin' a thug
You will get smacked with some bub, I got my mask and my glove
Yup, we wildin' again, the cops you dialin' again (what)
Guns matchin' my jeans (what's that?) I'm just stylin' my friend
I better get squashed (why?)
When that telly is ready, I medley a deadly, a sauce
That'll petty a steady already get heavy and hard
And I got them mami's screamin', "Dammit, man!"
Really, "Dammit, Cam!", hand in hand to a Phantom tan (God Damn)
Pam pam man, no man or land could jam with me (nope)
Damn fam a jamboree, posse gangs and family (where we at)
In front of the corner store under the canopy
Chick wanna stand with me, she gotta drink a can of pee (here, drink this)
That's a pineapple soda (what's this) this a pineapple Rover (what happened?)
Don't sit on the hood, time after time I done told ya
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