Gassed

Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast

Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag

Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz

Then get back to the cash all I know is racks

Money on my mind, picture dollar signs

If they chuck em out its fine must been out of line

Must be out your fuckin' mind and collide with mine

You'll be with the fucking dead like you sodomize

If not now paying time like you got a fine

Find exactly where you dyin, soon as you recline

That look I see in your eye don't mean no surprise

And right before you see the dark you gone' know the light

My fuego rock his cradle

Ima light his top up just like candles on a table

Should've knew better than stepping out here in that water Fredo

Bet this pump gone em leave looking like he been hit by tomatoes

Fucking clown, nothing funny now

Touchdown on the prowl, when I come in town

Hunt em down, Gun em down with 100 rounds

Blaw its not a sound when I come around

Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast

Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag

Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz

Then get back to the cash all I know is racks

Wings up!

MOB!

I was born a sinner Imma die a winner

Just know I'm ridin with my niggas till we cross the finish

Bitch I'm Popeye on that spinach when it come to bidness'

Slide that clip in Nina let her blow your ass some kisses

Bow! Bow! That's my bitch nigga

And she ain't never hesitate to pop that pussy on bitch nigga

My side ho is thick, I keep 50 in the clip

Pull up on a nigga with the mask on like Link

8 ball corner pocket when I drop you that's it

Like he rocking balmain high nigga getting zipped

I ain't talking ounces, shotty bounce em then he getting flipped

Then its game over like its Lil Flip

I'm satch mode when I let that gat blow

I'm like Kobe ill give you 60 for that Jazz load

That's 2 30s sticking out like a bitch with ass though

Fuck that bitch and kick her out

Get back to that cash flow

Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast

Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag

Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz

Then get back to the cash all I know is racks

We gone' get the cream like a fucking rash

Hulk Hogan with the stash, hold the gun and cash

Take away his future leave him in the past

Pull my mac on you dummies you don't want to crash

We gone run it up yea, Forest Gump

Pockets got the mumps fatter than the clumps

All that talking tough that'll get you slumped

Hop out, up the pump squeeze it fill em up

Then ill pull off leaving shells middle finger 12

Oppose me, mission fail, boy you sick as hell

Niggas actors like Denzel till I give em hell

Change in em like a well now that nigga pale

Steering with my left while I shoot at you with my right hand

Kill everybody cold ill turn your block into Iceland

Equipment in my trunk I got poles as long as a mic stand

Ready to back me up that's at every show like my hype man

Squad!

Pull up on them gassed, all I know is blast

Pop 'em like a tag put em in a bag

Let them trumpets blow I ain't talking jazz

Then get back to the cash all I know is racks