BLAMMER lyrics

[Intro]
f*ck (n*gga)
sh*t

[Verse 1]
This a blammer, you get blammed tryna run down
Ugh, I got titties on a AR, this a hunnid round (Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on 'em–, b*tch!)
Lil gang want the kill, now you can't even escape
Spread racks on my arm, this sh*t on display
f*ck spread racks, new money, this sh*t I just made
Call the f*ckin' playback, what they want? They get skipped anyway
pus*y n*gga ran last week, we catch him any day
You pus*y but you havin' pounds, lil' gang might run you down
Buddy got the zaza, where the strains, where the f*ckin' pack?
Think you finna walk down on lil' Fast, better be on 'tack
I was in some real sh*t, I had to f*ckin' think
Gang'nem know we pop the ATM's, and then we pour up drink
Think you finna try this sh*t? I'on know what lil' buddy think
Came in with racks, came in with drip, what the f*ck you on?
I got hella plays, juggs on my phone
Run that sh*t, run yo' f*ckin' sack, run yo' f*ckin' load
Better get down wit' the f*ckin' fye, or get out the road
I got fire for a pus*y boy, pus*y n*gga know, we gon'–
(Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on 'em–, b*tch!)

[Verse 2]
Gang mix moonrocks, we on moonrocks
Buddy draw down wit' a big ass gun, run him out his socks
We can't lack inside the f*ckin' dark, blickies already c*cked
If you see it 'bout your f*ckin' business, drop the f*ckin' dot
We gon' end smoke wit' mystery, when Fast poppin' out
I might put this sh*t on Fast, put this sh*t on me
Lil' bro said he's scared for his life, that's why he stay on beat
I can't go nowhere wit'out that glizzy, like it's glued to me
Anytime lil flame pop out, b*tch, I got a tool or three
Ain't 'een gotta c*ck it back, know we smokin' rocket pack
Gun down, tired of f*ckin' tryna scam a bank, they givin' me one rounds
He done tapped in wit' a villain, pus*y this a villain-boy
I done put attachments on ARP's, I'm havin' different toys
Pull out pape', adjust this sh*t
We got zaza in the bricks
Keeping all my f*ckin' sticks
Lil boy, I can't sell you sh*t
(Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on 'em–, b*tch!)
[Verse 3]
This the real zaza pack, not no regular weed
Promise I might walk a n*gga down in Top Villan-tee's
I might bring this sh*t out early, on the newest day
Lil' buddy tryna be a opp or gon' be my newest play
Put me on a dummy list, bet I make it out
It's a drought inside the f*ckin' hood, run inside yo' house
I forgot to bring my ski today, but I'm poppin' out
On the drank, it got me feelin' down, got me leanin' down
You gon' catch Lil' Lazer trimming 'round, catch me out of bounds
n*ggas know Lil' Fast f*ckin' step, walk down and you left
You get blowed down, twelve poppin' out, ain't no more stuntin' 'round
Do a dirty crime, we in the trench, we in the dirty bricks
pus*y boy ain't gettin' no f*ckin' money, they doin' dirty sh*t
I got Chromes on my scale, he think this a fairytale
Walk down wit' some sh*t, everybody gon' back-back
Phew, phew

[Outro]
(Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on 'em–, b*tch!)
f*ck
sh*t