B.B. Gun lyrics

[Intro: Young Chris]
Yeah, Young Gunnaz, State, State, State Prop Chain Gang
Yeah, Chad West on the track
Sigel, Neef Buck, Peedi Crack, O and Sparks, Freeweezy
Yea State Prop Boys back in town
Backblock boys, pop boys, back you down

[Verse 1: Young Chris]
I ask is it me, or is it really them
Yea I'm young, but y'all ain't never gonna big Willy hum
North Philly, hum keep a big milli hum
Them ain't never been soft, naw dog
Y'all really them n*ggas that be mouthing off
Never really got in sh*t
Actin' like you shot the sh*t
But hesitate to pop it off
When it's on, y'all be gone
C grip the pistol, drawn
Hittin' till them n*ggas gone
Word till my n*ggas gone
This ain't just a song, this is real sh*t we live
n*ggas will get ya kids, hurry n*ggas switch your homes
Don't forget ya pistol, home, what the f*ck you buy it for
To catch a f*cking body or to show up for them b*tches drawling
Actin' all big and buff
n*ggas ain't really tough
Humble, but he might just be the first to call you n*ggas bluff
Have you n*ggas sh*ttin' puss
Bleedin' through the ass
C'll seize a n*gga fast
Hit you b*tches up
[Chorus: Peedi Crakk and Young Chris]
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh yea n*ggas wanna get on I got some n*ggas in my click
YC: That'll make your motherf*ckin jaws tight
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh what n*ggas want to get on thats right I got some n*ggas in click
YC: That'll hit yall motherf*ckas all night

[Verse 2: Neef Buck]
Whoo whoop Bucky
Yo, bang bang here we go
Naw this ain't radio
Load up ya gun music
Don't pull it if you ain't gonna use it
Don't tempt me n*gga, I'm gonna shoot it
Trust n*gga, you gonna come up missing about mine
Thirty shot MP5, spit out nines
All hollows in ya gut
So you holla when it cuts
Let off a dime, then I calm
20 shots'll follow up
You'll be sparking like a dutch
Keep the sh*t up on a hush
Out on bail, fresh outta jail
Two cases, I got to fight n*gga
They sent me down try to right n*ggas
They want me up north, stressing with them White n*ggas
Getting husky, f*ck it let twelve judge me
Got to keep it on me daily
If you got some beef you smell me
Listen what you n*ggas tell me, come out naked
So I can be in the spittle, doc pumping I'm wetted
But I'mma be both these f*ckas give me a second
[Chorus: Peedi Crakk and Young Chris]
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh yea n*ggas wanna get on I got some n*ggas in my click
YC: That'll make your motherf*ckin jaws tight
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh what n*ggas want to get on thats right I got some n*ggas in click
YC: That'll hit yall motherf*ckas all night

[Verse 3: Beanie Sigel]
Sig. want Sig. want you b*tch n*ggas still pumping you guns
Like pump pellets won't puncture your lungs
Get your toes tagged who wanna slow drag
Dance with the devil who wanna play freeze tag with the metal
And you it's like a virus my whole crew sick
I'm the truth in the booth with my all blue kicks
But tell me why you mad dude like Big Old skits mitts
Yea they call me that throwback kid
Cause that colt four fifth put big holes and sh*t
And you know I keep my ruger near
My back pocket keep the two shot there
Line up who wanna see if 2Pac dead
You'll knocked out ya tube socks yea
Get your wing tell me thing 2Pac said
Until the STOP you n*ggas not PAC
You not MY State Prop mothef*cka and
[Chorus: Peedi Crakk and Young Chris]
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh yea n*ggas wanna get on I got some n*ggas in my click
YC: That'll make your motherf*ckin jaws tight
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh what n*ggas want to get on thats right I got some n*ggas in click
YC: That'll hit yall motherf*ckas all night

[Verse 4: Oschino]
Oschino, n*gga, SP
We want we want
That boy in the Porsche with the top in the trunk
Oschino long like joker clip all hanging out
Money over b*tches what this SP gang about
Bought it like brotha man gas like son of Sam
One through your face leave your stretched like a rubber band
You wouldn't understand you don't want it fam
The MC with the hammer have yall n*ggas do the running man
Born in the ghetto straight form the projects
Game like LeBron James but no Nike contract
Pitbull red nose six hundred all gold marshland all froze
Low top red holes red shoe strings no socks on
Mr. Matinee be moving that popcorn
Yall n*ggas should stop drawing your oil paintings stink
While we in the kitchen cookin oils till they stink

[Chorus: Peedi Crakk and Young Chris]
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh yea n*ggas wanna get on I got some n*ggas in my click
YC: That'll make your motherf*ckin jaws tight
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun
YC: Oh what n*ggas want to get on thats right I got some n*ggas in click
YC: That'll hit yall motherf*ckas all night

[Outro: Peedi Crakk &Young Chris]
YC: Chitty bang bang all I see in the ghetto is thangs bang
YC: b*tches getting drunk and wetted and settle for gang bang
YC: b*tch n*ggas live for what they copy and never
YC: Is it just me or do you agree things change
YC: Yea...Young Gunnas...Chris and Neef
YC: It's our summer, O and Sparks
YC: Peedi Crakk, Freeweezy, B. Sig
YC: Holla at ya boys... Yea we doing big things n*gga
YC: State Prop. Clothing, cartoons, movies, yall n*ggas know
YC: f*ck yall wanna do
YC: Young Gunnas n*gga...Chris and Neef
YC: Get it right n*gga
PC: We want, we want the kid that shot that B.B. Gun