Produced by BlocBoy lyrics

by

Project Pat


[Intro]
Hah, hah, check it (word)
Hah hah hah (yeah yeah yeah), check it
(Yeah, yeah) hah, hah (yeah yeah yeah)
Hah (Bloc), hah (whoa), hah (word)

[Verse]
These n*ggas after me
I got them shooters on balconies
I'm gettin' head from a b*tch and she Japanese (word)
n*ggas they talkin', I'm loadin' and clappin' these
Loadin' and clappin' these pistols (pistols)
You are not an automatic hitter (a hitter)
Really you an automatic misser
f*ck it, I'ma automatic get you (huh?)
Smack a n*gga ass with the pistol (pistol)
Pop a n*gga ass like a pimple (a pimple)
Store-store-store run, get the gun (store run)
Up the Tommy, take his funds (he gone)
Take the hundreds leave the ones
For the strippers n*gga (for the strippers)
I got an SK with a shank, that's the tipper n*gga (that's the tipper)
Beat a n*gga, sweep a n*gga
We don't need them n*ggas (f*ck 'em)
I don't think you n*ggas 'bout nothin' (word)
When I see you in the street (huh?), you ain't even got a gun
Askin' n*ggas for money (word), n*gga you ain't got no funds
You know I do it B-I-G, you can call me Big Pun (yeah yeah yeah)
But I don't smoke no pom-poms
Run up, get done up (word)
My clip is so heavy, I can't hold my arm up (my arm up)
Y'all n*ggas faker than warmups (warmups)
I got the bread like a farmer (I-I-I-I)
Shoot like I'm Mario Chalmers (Chalmers)
Workin' my wrist, f*ck my arm up (f*ck my arm up)
I feel like Nash on the Suns, Mario chasin' them coin
You dancin', we pull up with guns, I'm 700, you done (Crip, Crip)
Got my hitters in the front like a radiator
Using big words so you know they annihilate you
I'm in her mouth like Now & Laters, b*tch I got all flavors
Bring that sh*t back, no turntable
Multiply that like times tables
We ain't got time for that
If you really want a crease, use the iron for that
Now a n*gga need a piece of his spinal back
In a line of MAC's
Ke-ke-keep that, keep that iron for that
If it's an altercation, n*gga we use nines for that
We don't do conversations, baby we don't got time for that
We ain't got time for that, we ain't got time for that
[Outro]
(Hey, wait)
We gon' do the ad-libs
(Hey, wait)
Tay, told 'em go'n do the ad-libs
Klay, I got your b*tch callin' me a, bae
And I really don't know what to, say
I want her head like some motherf*ckin' braids
And you know I'm finna, ayy, ayy, ayy
And I made this beat, ayy
Got your b*tch and she in the sheets, ayy
And we turnt up in the studio
Track nation, yeah we live in this f*ckin' ho
I got your b*tch, she tryna book me for a f*ckin' show
She gon' make you pay for it, and you already know
b*tch, I'm live
Like Channel Five
I just put 'bout a three five
In a blunt, now I'm so f*ckin' high
To the sky though
n*gga askin' me these questions, I'm like why though?
And my n*ggas got that money standing five four
My money standing six four, I'm in a six four with the loads
Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, Crip, Crip, Crip
Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, b*tch
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