Free The Gang
Yeah nigga
Baby bottle full of purple Wock
I only pour po drank up inside exotic pops
They though I was finna scrap they heard a couple shots
I threw a fully on the Glock im finna switch it up
Got a roster full of demons
Blick hot here come the sun like The Beatles
Put you in a suit like you going to a meeting
Talking shit come and see me
Disrespect my mans Ima pop you I aint Jeezy
Im tryna put my name on the map
Sending bullets off the snap
We get it popping we aint gotta get back
You sell me a fake perc you gon get killed for that
Its a lot of fake niggas out here bring the real ones back
I feel like Kobe in the clutch
Purple Buffs came from Hutch
Finna drop a golden sun matching piece for my son
You dont even own a gun but you be dropping shit
You might not make it through the month if we find out the crib
Aint nobody in the car just a K that's it
Shooter and the driver yeah I really meant that shit
Hopped off the porch I aint coming back til Im rich
My brother really in the grave and its some in the pin
I dont think these niggas understand how this shit can really get
You aint never robbed nobody you just hit a petty lick
We probably knock twice and then we coming in
Mask on thirty two under the blic I feel like rip
Ima hold my niggas down they dont know what we about
Im tryna put my niggas on y'all the type that run y'all mouth
You make me a type beat I want this to be the song
Niggas really not street I dont know why they around
Im doing this one for my people
Made ten bands on Easter
I be really on the road making money while you sleeping
You wanna learn how to jugg I need five bands to teach you
I knew I was gon pop when I turned into the leader
All this dirty money on me on my way to clean it up
I Only put a couple shots up I swear Im heating up
We won't stop until they seeing us
That nigga really think he loyal but dont know the meaning of it
Aint nobody in the car just a K that's it
Shooter and the driver yeah I really meant that shit
Hopped off the porch I aint coming back til Im rich
My brother really in the grave and its some in the pin
Baby bottle full of purple Wock
I only pour po drank up inside exotic pops
They though I was finna scrap they heard a couple shots
I threw a fully on the Glock im finna switch it up
Got a roster full of demons
Blick hot here come the sun like The Beatles
Put you in a suit like you going to a meeting
Talking shit come and see me
Disrespect my mans Ima pop you I aint Jeezy
Im tryna put my name on the map
Sending bullets off the snap
We get it popping we aint gotta get back
You sell me a fake perc you gon get killed for that
Its a lot of fake niggas out here bring the real ones back
I feel like Kobe in the clutch
Purple Buffs came from Hutch
Finna drop a golden sun matching piece for my son
You dont even own a gun but you be dropping shit
You might not make it through the month if we find out the crib
Aint nobody in the car just a K that's it
Shooter and the driver yeah I really meant that shit
Hopped off the porch I aint coming back til Im rich
My brother really in the grave and its some in the pin
I dont think these niggas understand how this shit can really get
You aint never robbed nobody you just hit a petty lick
We probably knock twice and then we coming in
Mask on thirty two under the blic I feel like rip
Ima hold my niggas down they dont know what we about
Im tryna put my niggas on y'all the type that run y'all mouth
You make me a type beat I want this to be the song
Niggas really not street I dont know why they around
Im doing this one for my people
Made ten bands on Easter
I be really on the road making money while you sleeping
You wanna learn how to jugg I need five bands to teach you
I knew I was gon pop when I turned into the leader
All this dirty money on me on my way to clean it up
I Only put a couple shots up I swear Im heating up
We won't stop until they seeing us
That nigga really think he loyal but dont know the meaning of it
Aint nobody in the car just a K that's it
Shooter and the driver yeah I really meant that shit
Hopped off the porch I aint coming back til Im rich
My brother really in the grave and its some in the pin
Credits
Writer(s): Kenneth Daniels
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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