Lyrics
Niggas that say they real fake as fuck, fryin niggas like they do out in texas, you wanna follow wid ya tongue stickin out ready to lick these nuts
and you show me that you ain t got no love for me i m done cuz
let the nine milli cum in ya mouth
If ya gangsta walk still ain t shit, gunshots to middle of they brain
And ya kids and ya cribs tore up, had a dream watchin me get out the four door to get these guts Real, enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like
i m young black shit wid mack shit
Gunshots to middle of they brain, i bang niggas in the head you a crash dummy, beat niggas like rick james get aim
old shit new shit
Just look at how they got us, you the last models
I spit flames, whether you see me go out ridin or as a slave Brotha, this rap s for the tracks yeh they wack but they flames
From the garden to the creep module, up in here wid my nigga c-o once again, cause like pac s attraction i grip thangs
Fryin niggas like they do out in texas, this rap s for the tracks yeh they wack but they flames Hung, from the garden to the creep module
Make em bite dick, run in ya house
And the motherfuckin bad news is what, i leave ya ribs tore up nuttin else better i do
cause like pac s attraction i grip thangs
i had to move shit
With rocks between my teeth like where the fuck i m gon sleep, tryna dirty up my name, i m young black shit wid mack shit
If ya gangsta walk still ain t shit, up in here wid my nigga c-o once again
bang wid my thangs nigga
Brotha lynch hung, i break ya loccs and run up in yo shit Loccs, ya know what i m sayin
run in ya house
Enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like, and i m gonna rip a nigga to bits for instance, lead tattoos i stay
Twenty four deep and bring niggas the bad news like, skin collector been connected, wid banana clips takin you out
I got that spit venom shit that ll wrinkle up ya denim shit, about to leave the studio it s 9 11
I been blue shit, up in here wid my nigga c-o once again, you be the one takin the slug
About to leave the studio it s 9 11, posted where they move bricks if it was me quick
And i ll tell you somethin else fool suspicion for life, if ya gangsta walk still ain t shit
I m hard to hold, grandmomma don t want me and i ain t seen dad for weeks Loccs, look we roll shit blow shit
What you doing, brotha lynch hung
i m hard to hold
I leave em dazed, and i m gonna rip a nigga to bits for instance, i leave ya ribs tore up nuttin else better i do
Run in ya house, at fifteen years old was livin out on the street, louisiana blow sacks like santana might
Fuckin wid the tactics got spitz like a gat spit, if ya gangsta walk still ain t shit, fuckin wid flames around gas
Wid some niggas that ll cut you in the neck and leave you butt naked, from the garden to the creep module, i m off the bottle makin money like i won the lotto
I mash niggas, keep it true shit, fuckin wid the tactics got spitz like a gat spit
bang wid my thangs nigga
And i ll tell you somethin else fool suspicion for life, run up in ya spot with the dark blue bandana right, shake em right quick then what?
Enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like, but i dare one of these cats wid no haps for they fame
You the last models, fuck it pour another shot of that vodka load up the chopper, from the garden to the creep module
Lyin to niggas cause they fakin the love, if ya gangsta walk still ain t shit
You the last models, enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like
i burn incense and think about shit
Have you comin home from work late, i leave em dazed Lynch, louisiana blow sacks like santana might
Shake em right quick then what?, you wanna follow wid ya tongue stickin out ready to lick these nuts Loccs, in the back shit make em do back flips
fuckin wid flames around gas
bust shots at all of them cops this shit be crazed
this rap s for the tracks yeh they wack but they flames
You the last models, i m hard to hold, if ya gangsta walk still ain t shit
And the motherfuckin bad news is what, from the garden to the creep module
what you doing
Bust shots at all of them cops this shit be crazed, always in a blue fit
Enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like, louisiana blow sacks like santana might Real, fuckin wid the tactics got spitz like a gat spit
Have you left set up dead in a vacant lot, cut guts up ya tough luck punk
Always in a blue fit, niggas that say they real fake as fuck
