Intro

[Intro]
Gang, gang, gang, gang (Huh)
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang

[Verse]
[?] free all of my niggas, known for makin' them gangs
And they like Italy folks 'cause they stay with the 'caine
Just stay in your lane before I up this .40 with
Ten less than forty and then take your face from your brain
Your neck from your chain, then get top by your thot
Wait, stop, spaz, pop, on her face is my stains
I stay with the gang, switchin' up lanes off in traffic
My bitch, she ratchet and I'm takin' my aim
Like semi-auto, the 'matic, five-fifty, 4Matic
Them boys causin' a havoc, divide their ass, then subtract shit
Man, you know me, same nigga who used to hit the Drive up
.40, Nin'-thing, .45, who survived?
Fuck that shit, we back out and we hittin' up Cottage, bitch
Poppin' shit, droppin' shit, I just say we bombin' shit
Bitch, I'm that boy that got it, no flodgin' shit
And I been shootin' like James Harden before the Rockets, bitch
Okay, okay, see, we ballin' like KC
So all my boys royal and all our hoes spoiled
Y'all [?], oops, y'all plans foiled
And I got somethin' for you, big hammer, Thor you
You know these hoes adore you when you chase that guwop
When them bands in your bank and all them bands in your shoebox
I'm that mack and you not, sneak dissin', get you dropped
Pull up on you at the light, B.I.G. or 2Pac
Damn, they like, "Who the fuck is that? He ain't got no manners
No respects or no fucks, but he got them hammers"
Bitch, it's Dutcho from the S and I pop them hammers
Rock them hammers, iPhones rock them scanners
When it's beef, calvary for the cattle, though
The Ruger is for the battle, bro, they gotta have them ladders, though
Been OT, check a bag off the Apple store
Then touch down with that check, up next like about a O
Niggas ain't hot for real, I'm just sayin'
I smoke the Tracy with John Wayne Gacy and Satan
And I can't forget Dahmer, he said, "I better eat these boys up
Rip shit, rest in peace these boys up
Gon' decease these boys up"
Morticians and them coroners play with puzzles tryna piece these boys up
And my young gunners gon' dump you, stay poppin' it
These nights, Baby Boy, Christian knees your boys up
No ease, Swizz Beatz, they gon' beat your boys up
Like Timbaland, stomp a nigga out in my Timberlands
Ayy, fuck the opps and they blocks, we ain't gon' play with 'em
In the field with them sticks, do the White Sox play with 'em?
Yeah, I'm pitchin' A balls, spinnin' curveballs
My bitch will fuck, nah, she fuck around spin the curb, y'all
But your lil' bitch goin', I put her in the foreign
Then I swerve off, murk off like, "Sorry, I'm a jerkball"
I know I hurt y'all feelings and shit
Kickstands with the Xans got me feelin' and shit
Niggas paralyzed neck down feelin' this shit
Niggas fightin' bodies even say I'm "killin' this shit"
Who iller than this?
Me and [?], nigga like baby powder
Money talk, Willis Tower
Smokin' Nuski, Diesel Sour
And it's free smoke, you want some? Come get some
My shorties in the field for real like Tim Lincecum
And um, my ice [?] fightin' like Tyson
Michael, beam on the move, so you might glow
Sixty-three grams, six Xans, but that's slight, though
Fiend for the cheese, 'bout the Gs, I'm a hype, oh
I been leanin' and I'm beamin'
With a semen demon and she say her nigga seemin'
Like a model, like a mannequin for Neiman
And my jewelry gleamin', damn, you should've seened it

[Outro]
Huh, let's get it
On foe 'nem, ayy, tell them boys, tell them hoes
Catch up, huh? Hold on
Step on a tomato, lil' bitch, huh, huh
With no mustard, you already know what that means, fuck with 'em
[?], what up? (Gang, gang, gang, gang)
Foe 'nem, I just be fuckin' 'round, though, got [?] in this bitch, too
And this my motherfuckin' city