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