Metal Lungies (feat. Sheek Louch & Styles P)

What these clown **** hollerin'?

What they need to be hollerin' is, there go Theodore

Put the ball down, we can't score

They pen shit to backboards, make queens out of wack broads

You see us comin'? Fuck that fam shit

Just pass off, you bitch

Cristal, Dana Dane's wrapped around your neck

Lookin' rich, bow, you fucked up now

See my gun, ****?

This baby got scuffed uptown

Shouted out, made a whole safe with the pump root pounds

My buddy, keep my gun right next to my tummy

Ask the clip, yo, they spit metal lungies

Detach wigs, kill flunkies off contact, son, see

Didn't mommy tell y'all **** to wear clean undies

See, y'all shoulda listened to her

She knew her son had a big mouth and someday death would occur

Please for Ms. Gale's sake and her seeds

Pass the fetty, ain't fuckin' around, they knocked her, ooh-wee

Uh-oh

(Word up)

There's still

(What you talkin' 'bout, baby?)

Real kids spit that shit

Me and Starks clear project parks

With our '93 shit, army coat green and light-tan Clarks

**** think I'm lucky, bitches wanna fuck me

And put me in the tub with 'em like I'm a rubber ducky

I got a revolver and the pump about the size of Chucky

I remember faces easy as I tie my laces

And put the metal in your mouth like you was rockin' braces

I spit a iron lungie, I'm old school like the Iron Monkey

My shit powerful enough to lift a fuckin' donkey

I got heavy chrome

**** don't care if you live or die

They happier than Marbury home

And **** better kill me, my street **** feel me

Louch gotta eat, ends gotta meet

The hard shit you kickin' 'bout is R&B as Tweek

This is Theodore, D-Block, the year adore

The son who fought with the 4-4, **** like

Uh-oh

(Word up)

There's still

(What you talkin' 'bout, baby?)

Real kids spit that shit

Yeah, **** this is Ghost with Ghostface

I don't sell millions but I get millions from the fiends that smoke base

Somebody leavin' out with a poked face

Tony burn 'em and kick his teeth out, so we don't catch no case

I'ma make you look like you smoke base and we don't leave no trace

These rap **** swear that they so safe

I don't wanna talk to you, homes, I don't communicate

My guns be on my hand more than my phone

And I could dial your number, knock the smile off your face

With the HK9, out the all-black Hummer

Metal lungies you spit, the grungiest shit

Hungriest shit, 17 dummies a clip

Tell them rap **** to suck my dick, fuck the industry of shit

Shutdown the store, bust my shit

I got some hustlin' ass **** that'll pump my bricks

And some dust head **** that'll dumpy my clips, what?

Uh-oh

(Word up)

There's still

(What you talkin' 'bout, baby?)

Real kids spit that shit