Bang Bang

[Verse 1 - Santos] Trauma unit, all my niggas riding with me The rider movement, it’s murder city, crime committee Niggas think they Batman, got they Robins with them I’m the motherfucking joker, turn it into Gotham City Plus I sell dimes of sticky And wherever I’m at I got the trauma with me If my niggas spark that dip or that white get in me What’s his name? where he at? Who want to rob him with me? Come on, too deep, I got a squad of 50 I live uptown, but that west side is in me Big brother gone, that’s how I got John up in me Say his name wrong and you got a problem with me Cause I’m past rhyming I’ll kill a motherfucker for his watch, I guess he had bad timing Cause I ain’t never been nowhere near perfect I just air shit out till it got a clear surface They won’t talk about nothing either Cause fuck talking, bullshit outrun a cheetah Black guns, white coke, jungle fever Two cars, six niggas, a dozen heaters We bout to blow up the speakers It’s a west Philly anthem, bottles up, puffing reefer A few dykes, a couple divas And some crazy Puerto Ricans that eat you up to a hundred squeezers I’m bout mine, west Philly outlaw Uptown trapping, I’m always outside So if it’s bout grind, and your block’s that sweet I can turn seven grand to a pound that week Oh you ain’t got a whip? Catch him in his man jeep Bullets hit the side of your door, get out the back seat MG’s ride for me and my man streets I make your fucking life a [?] from last week [Verse 2 – Rok Steady] Niggas better listen up Got hammers, cock hammers, God’ll hit em up Doc stich him up, K not fixing up Throw hot shit for bucks, more hot shit for grands In the middle of the heat y’all get the fans In the middle of the heat, man I’m flipping grams Fifty rocks, that’s a grand In my mouth, nor my hand Street smarts, tear drops, pour em in a plastic bag Heat spark, red dot, I’m pointing it at your fucking head Homie, please believe me If not then you get shot, bleeding easy Tick tock it’s your time to go Oh, wait, that’s only twelve and I need sixteen If only got twelve and I need sixteen Might catch you after 12 with my M16 Then pussy you know how it would go Let’s roll [Verse 3 – Trap Daddy] Young Philly Johnny Known for carrying Tommys Keep them goonies behind me Looking, ain’t hard to find me Young H O, got that rap game Ye flow They bout that rapping, but fuck em I’ll let a K blow H bout the money, my 20’s the size of Legos All my niggas shoters, they shoot whenever I say so I stay fresh, man, the shit I’m wearing’s a day old I’ll make your breakfast, I’m holding you like an Ego The bullshit, when it ever stops Cops in and out the spot Gun full of hard heads, I send em in and out your top Good duckers, then fuck us, send them in around your block They really bout the beef, I’m bout the spinach in the pot I trap a lot of chains, but I spin that shit a lot Young gates in the building, I’m just tryna chase a million I made it through the struggle, through the prison, through the killing I’m a gun with a full clip and a clip with no ceiling I drive by fast, man you just might miss him H bout his business so baby he don’t get it I’m a hood nigga, I don’t fuck with the cops When H in the building something getting smothered and shot Bad chains, short aim, man I come with a lot Brown nosing with them niggas, I’m just coming for top I keep things with crack and smoke, and racks of dope And I’m known for moving the Rugers and clapping them coats And I’ll shoot through you, [?] I’ll give you toast I love Lugers and Rugers but I rock the coat Die young like Ali, I’ll rock your boat This’ll circumcise you inside you, stop your post And I suggest you niggas don’t run, just stop and hope Fore I kill something, you know it, the boy mean H burn slow like meth and morphine And spin a back burner, skinny nigga with a fat burner They call me young JH slash Nat Turner My jump ball finger, bitch it’s a pen and a pad Ten in the mag, look slim in the Jag With cinnamon rags, crack I sell venom in bags Niggas love me cause my shit’s street I done already bust burners and hustled on corners Hide em in fish grease Since Nas, I’m the hottest nigga with chipped teeth