Produced by Blocboy - BlocBoy JB

These niggas after me

I got them shooters on balconies

I’m gettin' head from a bitch and she Japanese (word)

Niggas they talkin', I’m loadin' and clappin' these

Loadin' and clappin' these pistols (pistols)

You are not an automatic hitter (a hitter)

Really you an automatic misser

Fuck it, I’ma automatic get you (huh?)

Smack a nigga ass with the pistol (pistol)

Pop a nigga ass like a pimple (a pimple)

Store-store-store run, get the gun (store run)

Up the Tommy, take his funds (he gone)

Take the hundreds leave the ones

For the strippers nigga (for the strippers)

I got an SK with a shank, that’s the tipper nigga (that's the tipper)

Beat a nigga, sweep a nigga

We don’t need them niggas (fuck 'em)

I don’t think you niggas 'bout nothin' (word)

When I see you in the street (huh?), you ain’t even got a gun

Askin' niggas for money (word), nigga you ain’t got no funds

You know I do it B-I-G, you can call me Big Pun (yeah yeah yeah)

But I don’t smoke no pom-poms

Run up, get done up (word)

My clip is so heavy, I can’t hold my arm up (my arm up)

Y’all niggas faker than warmups (warmups)

I got the bread like a farmer (I-I-I-I)

Shoot like I’m Mario Chalmers (Chalmers)

Workin' my wrist, fuck my arm up (fuck my arm up)

I feel like Nash on the Suns, Mario chasin' them coin

You dancin', we pull up with guns, I’m 700, you done (Crip, Crip)

Got my hitters in the front like a radiator

Using big words so you know they annihilate you

I’m in her mouth like Now & Laters, bitch I got all flavors

Bring that shit back, no turntable

Multiply that like times tables

We ain’t got time for that

If you really want a crease, use the iron for that

Now a nigga need a piece of his spinal back

In a line of MAC’s

Ke-ke-keep that, keep that iron for that

If it’s an altercation, nigga we use nines for that

We don’t do conversations, baby we don’t got time for that

We ain’t got time for that, we ain’t got time for that

(Hey, wait)

We gon' do the ad-libs

(Hey, wait)

Tay, told 'em go’n do the ad-libs

Klay, I got your bitch callin' me a, bae

And I really don’t know what to, say

I want her head like some motherfuckin' braids

And you know I’m finna, ayy, ayy, ayy

And I made this beat, ayy

Got your bitch and she in the sheets, ayy

And we turnt up in the studio

Track nation, yeah we live in this fuckin' ho

I got your bitch, she tryna book me for a fuckin' show

She gon' make you pay for it, and you already know

Bitch, I’m live

Like Channel Five

I just put 'bout a three five

In a blunt, now I’m so fuckin' high

To the sky though

Nigga askin' me these questions, I’m like why though?

And my niggas got that money standing five four

My money standing six four, I’m in a six four with the loads

Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, Crip, Crip, Crip

Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, bitch