Ain't No Burna

[Intro] The Street Smartz clique For all you gun loving motherfuckers For all you gat packers [Verse 1: Fuc That] Niggas should call me an army because I bomb beats With nothing but thoughts that's concrete With a brain that's charming Puff a lot of buddha ? To stop the future like a prosecutor That's my specialty, I'm not a rap star or celebrity Step to me, I'll leave his life in jeopardy, like leprosy (for real) While there's a lot of others fronting They make me want to smother something that have nothing but have motherfucking brothers busting More and more, I was raw before with hardcore literature, metaphors galore (You don't gotta guess what happened) Cuz when I'm done rapping (Your only thoughts is gun clapping) none slapping (And crumb snatching) Infra sizer, with my crew I'm an improviser My mental's liver than any gimmick or a synthesizer [Hook] Ain't no burner like the one I got (No gun can bust you better) Jam sometimes, but a less off a lot (4 pounds, tec 9s, beretta) Friends tell me I should leave it a home (Nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh) Tell them fools to get a gat of they own (A gat of they own, a gat of they own) [Verse 2: Fuc That] F bombs is penetrating, with fire arms disintegrating Bullet proof raps making your shots non-irritating Fuck the nation, bitch you don't know what you facing, lacing These pussy punks get punctured by my punctuation The way you hear my shit, I bet you head'll swing Cuz it's a ghetto thing, where we pack metal things just to settle things Or you real motivators know the flavor Because I release my vocal anger, whether you a star, or a total stranger I got a murder esophagus, with knowledge through inoculate All I see is officers and photographers (This is for all the rappers that can't demonstrate) Always anticipated to hear how my verbs is situated You sleeping but you don't know me pervert All of your homies heard it Raps you shocked, like ? white he's after the OJ verdict It's FT, and I'll let my shots wet you Niggas is catching hot levels from the red dot special [Hook] [Verse 3: Syxshooter] Partner the way I display my lyrical skills will fuck you up Stepping in my path I'll buck you up Because this style ain't nothing nice plus I'm down for whatever Busting four pounds of better I advice you cowards to keep your heads up Because my beretta, you niggas more than wounded When my mind is polluted with the essence of the buddha Phony rappers get bruised, I'm trying to fuck wit FT and Syx shooter Because Street Smartz in the mix, nine-six So all you lame brain rappers talking that so called live shit Get up with six grill and face the wrath of my nine clip A bad boy, since I came from mama dukes Plus I like to shoot guns, I'm blasting if you front So what you want for? what you want for? So pass the motherfucking ? the bone I spray to wound any intruder in my circumference You that of an enemy, punctured by bullets when my guns bust I've never been a law-abiding citizen True criminal doing anything to get the ends [Hook] [Outro] Yeah I got the motherfucking Street Smartz clique up in here No doubt (FT) Tru Criminal Records, nahmsaying? Peace to Jay-Z, and all that Nahmean? nahmsaying, for all you gun lovers Packing gats, all you pistol whippers Glock cockers, block lockers