Latino Heat, Pt. 2

[Verse 1: A$ton Matthews]
I'm Vince McMahon with the automatic
Got the pussy, got the power and the dollars comin', [?] static
Hit 'em up, never worry 'bout it
Do my shit and never say a word about it
Young Iraq boys
Click clack brrrat boys
Chopper like a turban, handsmade
I'm a serpent, swervin' in a Bourbon, stone cold servin'
Woop, run up in your shit, give me all that
Put your brain where the wall at
Put your bitch on the strip
Till she bring it all back, show, show me the money
Show me where the jars at, give her dick
Never call back, so tell me what you call that
I think that I'm [?]
Hello, ladies
It's Young Brick Flair in that CL 'Cedes
And she gon' [?] me
So cuff that bitch if she owe baby
Move birds like a parakeet
Like a game got a pair of seats, front row
Big pop a punk, it's a gun show
You think it's a game till they unload
Versace, versace, versace, versace
She working the top till the tip of it sloppy
Versace, versace
I woot for my troop, I got [?] papi
And they pilot, day and nights, I don't doubt it
Them body parts start pilin'
I shoot without a co-pilot, stylin'

[Interlude: Bodega Bamz]
You know when me and A$ton connect it's always motherfuckin' real
My Cali connect and all that
We might cutthroat a nigga
Take his whole fucking head off to get that chain, nigga

[Verse 2: Bodega Bamz]
Another show, another dollar
Another bitch, another body
Another nigga feeling sour
Same nigga catch a homy
Independent nigga making major moves
How I play the game, like I made the rules
Live wire, told labels I refuse
Short circuit, shot fired, I make the news
Rock the bell so I paid dues
Who the fuck is you?
It's an up and coming nigga with a point
Like the pencil don't break, when I show these number twos
Hit him with the lei, hit a nigga dead, 187
Whoever do the most talking be the one tellin'
Body in the trunk be the one smellin'
Put your ear on the wall, she the one yellin'
Yep, that pussy soaking, she like it
I pillow talk but she bite it
I fuck these hoes and you wife it
I keep a G and you type it
Never been a fuck nigga
You know what I rep, 100 Keep It buck nigga
I can tell you don't shoot, keep it tucked, nigga
I say nigga ‘cause I can nigga, what, nigga?
Mastermind but I dropped out
Knocked out right hook, cut a face when the box out
They ain't seen this much passion since 2Pac
I'm knee deep, hide the crack in my tube socks
Money clean but I'm looking for a sucia
[?] gun but she really love the chupa
Like my next door neighbor call her punca
Keep down the noise [?] puta!

[Outro: A$ton Matthews]
These motherfuckers ain't ready for none of that
They ain't ready for none of that
Talking that bullshit on this motherfucker
You know what I'm saying?
Cutthroat boys, Tanboys in this motherfucker
From the East to the West side
Nigga, that's how we giving this shit up
What's up?
Do something, nigga
Choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Yeah, we choppin' on sight
Choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Chop, chop, choppin' on sight
Yeah, we choppin' on sight
Yeah, we choppin' on sight
Yeah, we choppin' on sight
Yeah, we choppin' on sight
Lord