Killa Season lyrics

[Intro: Lud Foe]
Out West 290 sh*t, n*gga, you know how I'm rocking, n*gga
Get your guns up, get your funds up
You on that opp sh*t, get mop stick, b*tch
Straight gang sh*t
No hook, let's get it

[Verse 1: Lud Foe]
A lotta n*ggas breathing they shouldn't be breathing
My young n*ggas kill for no reason
It's the killer season, call me Cam'ron
Pull up slam dunk sh*t, call me Lebron
I be on the hide out when the police come
Leave a f*ck n*gga bloody, he gon' need a tampon
Ian playing with no n*gga, no n*gga, no n*gga [x2]
b*tch, I'm creeping in your bushes with this MAC on me
They gassed him up I'ma put that n*gga back on E
Hit the club mugged up, b*tch, I'm high off E
These stripper b*tches always tryna put that ass on me
Hit the mall and f*ck up all this cash on me
Point me to the n*gga say he gon' smash on me
These f*ck n*ggas fu, turnt they back fast on me
The police watching me they tryna put a flash on me (Gang)
These n*ggas soft, b*tch, I'm grinding like I'm Tony Hawk
We hit yo' block, double back, all we see is chalk
These n*ggas lie on them tracks, all they do is talk
n*gga, better use your head before we knock it off
I get loose in this Coupe, b*tch, my roof missing
Ain't no competition, n*ggas snitching, call 'em stoop pigeons
These n*ggas fu and they cool with it
Somebody get whacked then we might have something to do with it
This street sh*t, b*tch, I'm too in it
Say you riding foreigns but I'm knowing that sh*t too rented
We do hits out the mini van, windows too tinted
Slide back that door, I'ma shoot this b*tch for two minutes
Free my n*ggas out the jail cell until they free I'ma raise hell
Hell yeah, say it with your chest since you tough I put shells there
I grew up in the slums we had [?] and welfare
Gangbanging on some Foe sh*t, I'm a rich n*gga, Ion want no broke b*tch
Dressed in all black like I'm Eazy-E, shout out to my jeweler got me looking like I'm Mr. T
A lotta n*ggas breathing they shouldn't be
One phone call have my youngins make him rest in peace
Hungry n*gga, eat yo' face then spit out yo' teeth
I'ma dog on a b*tch walk up with a leash
[Verse 2: Lud Foe]
Cruising down the block in my big box Chevy
Feel like a baby on my shoulders 'cause my chain too heavy
f*ck a deal, I go independent, call me Webbie
I'm sipping on this 1738 like Fetty
I keep a hollow in the chamber, b*tch, I'm always ready
I'm always getting some money, I'm about my fetty
b*tch, you gon' suck my di*k or what doing all that frontin'
That pus*y boy went bankrupt doing all that stunting
Trapping like a fool, so mechanic with a tool
Snooze, get put on the news let this rap sh*t fool you
Preacher man, I'm the teacher man, I'm gone school you
Remember being a broke n*gga made me easy to lose a b*tch
Now I'm getting money and I love to confuse a b*tch
I make her work for me, my daddy told me to use a b*tch
Think twice before you lose your life in this music sh*t
I get so much money I don't know what to do with it
If you ain't getting no money I can put you in tune with it
I sweep you off yo' feet, b*tch, this MAC got a broom in it
Catching bodies became a hobby, I be shooting sh*t
Find out where your house at then I send my goons in it
b*tch, I been the hottest and I already proven it
Water whip the bowl, b*tch, I put the spoon in it
Can't fit in my circle, n*gga, it ain't no room in it
And I won't hit the club if I can't get my tool in it
b*tch, I'm Young Rambo cooler on the TEC
Doing hits out the Lambo limo, you get stretched, b*tch
I'm a young n*gga f*cking vets, he get in that jam and confess
That pus*y boy got put to rest
I just want the money, you can keep the rest
Went to jail knocked my celly off the bunk bed
Doing all that sneak dissing, b*tch, we gon' bump heads
We Giuseppe'd up, red bottoms are us
Got Margielas I don't even wear, bought 'em for what
n*ggas dissing on my name 'cause I got some fame
I got perfect aim, leave yo' ass in a lotta pain
Call my jeweler and I buy a lotta chains
Remember I was broke as a joke hit a lotta stains
I line a n*gga up, what I see a lotta brains
Smoking reefer like I'm Wiz Khalifa, b*tch, Paper Planes
We hit the club on some gangbang sh*t
Run a train on yo' b*tch, let my whole gang hit
n*ggas tryna steal my sh*t, everybody know I started that no hook sh*t
I'm in Chiraq, b*tch, that's as real as it get
Where you gotta watch your back, tote a strap or you get hit
He gon' need a sh*t bag when he sh*t
Line a n*gga ass up and I didn't miss