Devastatin’...That’s Us! lyrics

[Buckshot Shorty]
n*ggas get hurt on my block
n*ggas do dirt on my block
Some push work on my block
Little n*ggas hustle laptops, ragtops
In the high-speed chase from the bad cops
TNT, f*ck that, they ain't seein me
The heat is in the seat of my three
Nowadays deez pop n*ggas for no reason
Like it's n*gga season, f*ck that let's visit the precint
Son I got the rubber gloves
For the rubber grip snub in the jar by love
I play the block like the cars I love
The Gods love Buckshot regardless - I burn the hardest
I used to be formerly know as the artist
Know it's back to Buck, I smack n*ggas what don't start it
Cuz I play the block like corn stores
Hardcore where my n*ggas hold rocks in they jaw

[Chorus - Lord Have Mercy]
Watch out, shut sh*t down - That's us!
Keep it King Kong, aim string long - That's us!
Gotta haul weight all day n*gga - That's us!
On fire! - That's us!
On fire! - That's us!
We don't back down, we back 'em down - That's us!
Put the cash up, we mash it down - That's us!
Ghetto bast*rds, we crowd around - That's us!
On fire! - That's us!
On fire! - That's us!
[Buckshot Shorty]
It's the block where we all hand and we all slang
Shots to the mall nang, never ball rang
Everybody got game, we hustle and muscle for fame
Ghetto celebs, you know my name
I put the work on it, I be the first on it
And at the first of the month, I'll be the worst on it
Them jealous n*ggas be gettin me hype
Wanna make my block hot like my streetbike tailpipe
Do what you feel like, cuz I'ma still kill like
Twenty n*ggas who feel hype, cuz I'm still right
One in ya windpipe, one hit'cha real light
Steak-n-cheese, ain't no mistakin these
We pop n*ggas and we pop deez
Especially when we drop trees
f*ck that, we pop with ease
n*gga this is the block and sh*t don't stop
Little use, got bullet proof suits to rock

[Chorus]

[Buckshot Shorty]
f*ck actin like it's all love, f*ck that
It ain't all love when the guns off the gunrack
Beef, been there done that
'Til that, a dude can't drill that
Even if I never feel that
But tickle the sh*t you come with or go with
You like bleedin with no kit, useless
If you got a choice choose this
Crown Heights, Crow Hill, everything is Christmas for real
We rob and steal
Boost a little 'Lo a little Tom Hil'
We don't really wear Tommy Hil but everything we rock they steal
Money is the root of all evil
But the Devil ain't a dollar bill
You better get that money - I'm gettin it
I ain't bullsh*ttin it, I'm tryin to get rid of it
Every bit, every little cent in my bank account
f*ck workin thirty years on the paper route
[Chorus]

[Lord Have Mercy]
Yea, yo, yea
Black Moon style, what
Yea, yea, what, yea
Beatminerz style, what, what
Uh, uh, what
Lord Have style n*gga
Uh-huh, uh-huh