Mismatch

[Intro]
Uh, no slime gang
We the live gang
It's Rondawg
Yeah, let's get it man
[Producer Tag: Steve Kroeger]

[Verse 1]
Was on parole, had to wait 'till my day come
Nine to five, put in work no paystub
He wanted beef but the sauce, man, it's A-1
Rob him for his burner than shoot him wit' the same gun
No slime gang, we the live gang
Swing by like Tarzan
We put a nine in
Money piling
Make me look like a giant
Uh, and I heard he want me dead
We coming with an army, we ain't coming with the feds
Whipped crack in the basement to pay the rent
Got niggas who ain't make it, they in the pen

[Chorus]
We gon' whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash
Came up off the stove with a big bag
You the type of nigga to call dispatch
We don't fist fight, that's a mismatch

[Verse 2]
And I heard he on the dope again
He cope with meds, type to go tell on his colder friends
Don't tell me no lies
You weren't in the kitchen, you were selling no pies
He went to class like a regular guy
I did math with the four and the five
I pay a shooter, get that nigga for the low
I ain't talking birds when I'm shooting at his cro/crow
Who's telling me somethin'
And that coke like flour, watch me whip up a dumpling
We gon' make him cry like he peeling an onion
Send him to the sky, we did't settle for nothing

[Chorus]
We gon' whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash
Came up off the stove with a big bag
You the type of nigga to call dispatch
We don't fist fight, that's a mismatch

[Verse 3]
Hunnids in the safe
Touch your bullets, jumping like a bunny in a race
Please don't let me smoke you
I got killers all around turn you tofu
Sicko did the race
'till he got shot, now he's locked in the cage
All my niggas in jail
I feel it for 'em 'cause I didn't know they going through hell
Used to hate spitting bars, bar-to-bars in the cell
And my celly was a demon, he a product of hell
CO's hear a scream, no one coming for help
Ain't shower in two weeks they're enjoying the smell
I get flashbacks
When I locked down, had to pack packs
Now I'm getting money and them fat racks
And I don't want to sell dope again
To buy a Benz, I feel sorry for my olderheads

[Chorus]
We gon' whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash
Came up off the stove with a big bag
You the type of nigga to call dispatch
We don't fist fight, that's a mismatch