Murda Season

[Intro]
Drum Dummie
Drum Dummie made the beat and I'm gon' kill it

[Verse 1: TeeJay3k & ShooterGang Kony]
Fuck the Ps I brought the gang in this bitch
You a opp you can’t hang in this bitch
I can’t hit her in the house then I take her to the back seat
Dick doing damage got her running like a track-meet
Shawty wanna fuck on a Don
She like all these tats on my arms
I gotta keep a .40 cause they know I’m the one
Put a nigga in the plastic with a choppa send him above
When I’m done you hear a Fooley when we spinning on my son
We got drums up niggas wanted smoke without the lungs
He got gleeky for the law
I still strip him for that gun I make him run
Ain’t no time to get your pistol out the trunk
All your niggas leakin all my partners on the run
How you call it beefin but when you see me you on run
Fuck the Ps bitch it’s beef I want everybody deceased
Send my shooter on your block it get surgical by me
Took them golds out my mouth and put them diamonds in my teeth
When that pack touchdown get it gone in a week
Bitch my mama raised a boss I ain’t goin’ for defeat
And that bitch ain’t your bitch boy she owned by the streets
Got my bands in my pocket on exceder al
Got these freak bitches tagging on my ethical
I brought that drum dummy thought that it was Helluva
That nigga thought he had a friend until we set him up
Old niggas talking tell them go and put their medals up
No telling us Mozzy chain looking like the yellow bus
Old park baby he ain’t knowin’ that it’s hell of us
Boy don’t even shoot em if we kill him they gon’ tell on us

[Chorus: TeeJay3k & ShooterGang Kony]
It’s that season, murder season
Give me a reason just to call up them demons
I been fiendin’, brought my beam in
Pockets Peter Griffin left the show and pulled up Cleveland
Little freak bitches wanna fuck me on the weekend
Bitch I’m from the trenches say you love when I’m leaving
They told me, “stay up out that water” bitch I dove in the deep end
Run up me choppa get to singing like The Weeknd

[Verse 2: ShooterGang Kony & TeeJay3k]
Run up on me choppa leave a nigga on his back
Hit the wrong nigga still add him to my stash
Try to give a shooter he shot first then I relapsed
Don’t need to tell you where I’m at I’m at the murders at the trap
Do my Dougie on that broke bitch
I don’t want no kiss
She tried to take my condom off I almost socked her in the lip
Pocket full of blues I got confused I ain’t a Crip
Me and Teejay in this bitch you better ask if you can kick
I was really road running yeah my shoes scuffed up
Don’t give a fuck about your man don’t get lil dude fucked up
Might go hit up King Ralph to get my jewels bussed up
He don’t see it I got on me got my tool tucked up
Bitch I’m K got a pocket full of dead guys
High as hell you can tell by my red eyes
Pop a pill smoking meds get me through the pain
Get to tweaking go to shooting like the shooter game

[Chorus: TeeJay3k & ShooterGang Kony]
It’s that season, murder season
Give me a reason just to call up them demons
I been fiendin’, brought my beam in
Pockets Peter Griffin left the show and pulled up Cleveland
Little freak bitches wanna fuck me on the weekend
Bitch I’m from the trenches say you love when I’m leaving
They told me, “stay up out that water” bitch I dove in the deep end
Run up me choppa get to singing like The Weeknd