Do Bout It - Rooga

Ayy, ayy, ooh

On foenem grave, you already know how this shit go

Back the fuck up

All you bop-ass hoes, all you goofy-ass niggas

Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy

We killed your partner, now what you gon' do 'bout it?

Pick up a gun, stop rapping and shoot 'bout it

Don’t let me drive your car, I might shoot out it

Knock him off-balance while he is rocking New Balance

We got four cutters inside of the Sprinters

Shout out to the gang, they turn niggas to sprinters

Foenem on D like they Leonard

You better be on point like you Lillard

'Cause we posting up like centers

Ayy, ain’t tryna talk or bargain with niggas

That choppa hit you, knock a part off a nigga

Oh, you the type that like argue with niggas?

Well, I’m the type to up a Carbon on niggas

I think you think that you know me but you don’t really know me

If you did, you would know I got it on me

I’m something like Manu Ginobli

When I got it on me, we slid and hit four of your homies

One thing I never did is let 'em hold me

Talking that shit, nigga, you gotta show me

He tried to run, he caught a four piece

These niggas broke, they ain’t got no cheese

Hop in a foreign, it ain’t got no key

You smoking OG?

That shit so cheap

That’s like you going buying some OE

I am not 2−4 but I fuck with Kobe

They say Red Bull give you wings

What, you wanna fly now?

You wanna die now?

I’m everywhere like Wi-Fi, he caught a shot from the sideline

You better stick to the guideline

That choppa hit you, in a few it’ll turn a nigga from 6'2″ to 5'9″

We’ll come through with five nines, I’m from 5−9

I put a switch on the Glock for the (Brrt)

So please, don’t run up on me, you gon' hear (Brrt)

I got some niggas, hop out with that (Brrt)

But I got that chop, so you gon' hear (Brrt, boaw-boaw-boaw, brrt)

That’s half of them niggas

And why is you riding without it, lil' nigga?

That’s how you die little quicker, we slide with them blickas

Boy, is you drunk off some liquor?

My niggas kill killers, we hopping out killing, ayy

Fuck how you feel, I don’t got no feelings

Shoot at his grill 'til he ain’t got no ceilings

Back to the money, I ran up a ticket

Just last week, I ran up a fifty

I was just broke, I didn’t have a penny

Now I put money on niggas that envy

We do hits at night and the daytime

Folks hawked 'em down like he was a K9

I’m talking face to face like FaceTime

But I just heard it through grapevine

I keep a .9 like Rajon

I keep a hoodie like Trayvon

He got hit but it ain’t done

Then I run up on 'em like I ain’t done

Now we smoked your partner and you ain’t even did shit

Everyone out there looking like, «Who did this?»

You talking 'bout some shit that we been did

It ain’t no talking, we standing on business

I’m really having my way with this shit

You better duck when I’m waving a blick

I’ll get on tracks and play with the shit

I don’t even know what else to say on this shit

On foenem grave, you already know how this shit go

Got my blick on me, got my stick on me

Don’t touch me, don’t even look at me

Back the fuck up

All you bop-ass hoes, all you goofy-ass niggas