Lyrics
What these **** don't really know, I'ma let it blow
Mr. 55 on the track
Trey 8 it gon' hit his dome, he won't make it home
Bullets hot, let it flock hit his face
Cause you **** never know cause I'm on the road, straight money I'm all about breesh
Like mama look
You raised you a demon, you think I'm achievin' the dreams to go to the NBA
But shit wasn't sweet, a young **** stepped in the streets and copped a new .38
The beam on the sitch sittin' real nice
So I gotta make sure my aim right
For the **** that run like y'all ain't right, that revolver do fits when it's dark night
Cause I got a .9 tucked, tryna run get your mind fucked when I'm blowin' the .9
Cause we hit him five times
Boy you know he ain't comin' back, so stop all the hopin'
Your homie got shot, you just stood there and saw it
Two hands on the Ruger, real tight when I blow it
I'm walkin' the opp strip, it's just me and my 30 blick, that's the one that I trust
I can't cuff a thot bitch if she down with the treeshy shit, kick her ass to the side
Vine Shots in the buildin', he blowin' the .9
He be chooin' in back of the V wit' the .9
Oh he not tryna knuckle up, tryna see what the fuck is up
Oh your homie just died, and no you ain't pick him up
We say fuck it cremate him dust, we gon' smoke on his pack
All alone, we gon' bend him up
Paramedics gon' pick him up, see the shells in his back
Oh you tryna run, you get turned to a pack
Got youngin's that wit' me, she throwin' it back
Fuck it, let's talk about it
We gon' see about it when that .9 hit his chest in the street
Your bitch she gon' walk without it, cause she tell about it
We gon' creep from the car let it tweak
Cause bitch I'm a ladies man and bitch I'm a money fan
He gon' throw up, we start shootin' shit out the fan
And we blow like a ceilin' fan
They like shorty he real and he wit' it
Them bullets gon' fly, hit his fitted and hit his face
And no I'm not politickin', fuck the politickin' we gon' make him see heaven gates
Lil' brodie gon' back 'em down
See a opp, we gon' turn around
30 shots in the Glock, we gon' flock him down, we don't give a fuck if the cops around ****
You know when I up the chop, bullets hit his flock
Lil' Breez' got left in the store
You know I'm gon' up the knock, 'til the hammer stop
Keep on feelin' 'til he hit the floor
Everyday October 31st, by November you better pick a Hearse
Cause on my time, when I let that .4 fly, we gon' hit him where it hurt
That trigger start clickin', them **** start dippin'
Lil' Glo, yeah I'm back on my bullshit
And you know that I got me a bitch and she totin' the semi
Keep tossin', I'm off it
Gang
Written by: GlizzyGlo
