Free download
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #234
Peak in subgenre #32
Author
Reaper/Tristan of HAM SQUAD
Rights
2011
Uploaded
January 25, 2011
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.0 MB • 128 kbps • 4:24
Lyrics
Mane we do it to the max
Yeah we keep on makin' stacks
Got yo' girl up in the back
She fo' the team, know that's a fact
Dawg we sellin' all the packs
Don't think I won't bust a Mac
Run yo' mouth, that's how you act
All we do is countin' racks
We give a damn about a sissified, punk ass n***
Runnin' his mouth, know he won't pull a trigga
Talkin' that sh** , call me the grave digger
Put him in the dirt, southside brain splitter
I'm on my savage, bust yo' cabbage; dawg that's how it go
I'm not the average, just the baddest; mane just play ya role
You wanna test, better wear a vest; cuz I'm cocked to blow
We ain't 'bout no petty hustlin', all we do is move bricks
You ain't even got a 8 ball, n*** you ain't sellin' sh**
Loaded on that snort fam, thinkin' yo ass Superman
That'll get'cha whole team wetted like it's Super Jam
And we don't want no problems man, boy we like to chill too
But if a n*** actin' up, he could get turned into worm food
Yeah we on that trap sh** , we give could give a f*** about b***
She can't help me get rich, all she good fo' is to suck my dick
Dawg I play a ho dirty, cuz there ain't no b*** worthy
To be on my team, wear my jersey; a n*** gotta be up early
Think he gon' run game on me, I tie up his whole family
Put 'em in the trunk mane, kidnap, no ransom note
Douse the car in gasoline, then I fled the f*** in' scene
Watch a b*** ass n*** burn, maybe one day they'a learn
See my 45 dawg, that b*** is so lethal, oh you got a Desert Eagle
Under the seat of yo' Regal, man I hope you dead-eye, or yo' ass 'bout to fry
All them n*** s talkin' like the South ain't got no real killas
Mane we just be grave diggas, lyricists, and paid n*** s
I don't think you really wanna bump heads with Bull n***
A Yankee cat'a get left short, tryin' to rhyme 'bout pullin' triggas
All I rep is gutter sh** , I scatter bodies on the strip
And if my aim wasn't great, I could pop another clip
But that is irrelevant, cuz I know I merked that f*** in' b***
Left that pussy boy leakin', that's what he got just for speakin'
Ill about the clique son, we ain't 'bout no all for one
All for money, all for scrilla; all 'bout gettin' paid n***
F*** in' wit' my buddy stacks, you gon' make front page n***
Call me Mr. Bill Collector, knockin' on yo' do' at night
You shorted me on 4 stacks, so I gots to take yo life
Tune his ass up with the ratchet, split his damn head wit' a hatchet
Just call me Geronimo, I'm takin' scalps right out the hood
Oh you wanna test my gangsta, n*** I just wish you would
You really do not want them problems, guz the Glock'a f*** in' solve 'em
Put you in a ditch n*** , cover yo' body wit' solvent
Man we got to re-up, I just sold the last bird
Dawg you plottin' on a robbery, that'a be yo' last words
A n*** get what he deserve, he in the ground, turned to dirt
