Informant - Gucci Mane

I sit around in the with my young niggas

Sellin' narcotics

Boys in the hood, wanna see a dead body?

Fuck 12, cause a nigga got a 12-gauge shotty

And I heard Vicky boy just shot somebody

Rude boy, tote a with the bumbaclot

Rasclat better run, cause Im lookin sharp

Head shot, pop pop pop pop pop to your dreadlock

And I drop the informant who talk to the damn cops

I’m a soldier on the battlefield

I murk your ass for real

Got a young nigga who love to kill

More bodies than a Navy Seal

These young boys ain’t got nothin' to do

But somethin' to prove and somethin' to shoot

Kill you on you birthday

Take you cake, and fuck your lady too

Shoot you in your dreads

Now, have a Rastafarian funeral

«is a traitor» she said to his

Hundred wawa’s, all with woppers

Ain’t no fucking breathing room

18 karat golden choppa my hollow tip got diamonds (burr)

Extended clip I dipped my clip in rose gold, so it match my jewelry, fool

«Gucci Mane got stupid money, but that boy ain’t lyrical»

I’m Eazy-E, reincarnated, but without the Jheri curl (R.I.P.)

Without the Dre Beats on my ear

And ice cubes on my baby girl

Here’s you a little tip

Gucci Mane a miracle

Call me anything but lyrical

The shit gonna get physical

on your bitch ass

I fucked her in the living room

She tried to get you to rob the wop now the bitch in critical

Short, fine

Big butt, with a fat purse

nine, show time

Make that gat burst

I don’t mind

But, don’t touch it 'till you ask first

My new chick

She’ll eat a dick like a bratwurst

I sip the lean

Pancake, Mrs. Butterworth

100K on three whips, that’s a T-rex

100 pounds, I didn’t pay

I got a weed debt