hit the dank n took my glock off lock
n on, to the 21st block
im rollin in a drop top
fever zero that black criminal
mac mac nigga that pop pop
a couple of rounds n when i test'em
ey fuck a smith n wesson
i got my 9 at my chest n
i got my dime bag of stress weed
a 40oz of OE n
im creepin up on some niggas in a mobb n a nigga claimin OG (pop)
*something i cant understand*
so wrap that nigga up
put'em in a herse n im hittin 50
goin sideways to the next light
you know
n i hit that corner of 24th street
some nigga be nuggin lynch
n i aint fittin to get got
ima shoot before im shot
for the fact that im smokin up this:
double u- double e d(weed)
reachin in the glove box
for the welfare weed thats fillin a nigga's sock
so its like
dead bodies in an oldsmobile
while im skirt past the corner with an empty 9 and some burban
right
i just adjust to the fact that niggas aint got no hope
im fillin'em up with 16
and lettin em know:
Back to: 
HOME
Diana Ross lyrics
