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(feat. Sean T) |
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(We gangsta daddy!) |
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(Sean T) |
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Yuh! |
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I'm sippin on that 'notiq the color of Hulk man |
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And the blueberry smoke got a nigga twerkin |
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You niggaz is perkin - so you doin it big? |
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You roll deep but when I see you it's just you and your kids |
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I roll sick, my rims feel like helicopter propellers |
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And my pockets run deep like a Mercer teller |
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Haters trip when they see the whip dippin by |
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The paint on it change like the I-95 |
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I'm just Clyde, without the Bonnie, I got the hollowpoint |
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Heat for you niggaz and the po' for the mamis |
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Sean Gotti, I'm puttin an end to camraderie |
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I'm lettin off heat, 'til them eyes get watery |
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Some gon' ricochet, some gon' hit, y'all gon' get 'em |
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Fluids gon' disperse out like refreshin club serum |
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I'm deadly as bite venom but I'm far from a snake |
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I'll hit you up on your birthday while you cuttin your cake |
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(Chorus: The Game) |
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We gangsters nigga; you see the cars, the whips |
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The chains, the fuckin broads we with |
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We gangsters nigga; we'll come through your hood |
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A hundred deep and empty the whole clip |
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We gangsters nigga; we got guns for the beef |
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And my niggaz'll put you under the street |
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We gangsters nigga; so you better watch what you say |
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'Fore I empty the whole glock in your face |
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(Sean T) |
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Streets is tough, but ain't no hopscotch lines on the ground |
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Just burner shells, and police siren sounds |
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Niggaz know who I am in the town; it ain't a circus |
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But it might as well be, cause you know I'ma clown |
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I'm a terrain boss, I know most niggaz envious dawg |
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And if a nigga owe me change you better give me it dawg |
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If you feelin like you wanna leap, make like a frog |
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You niggaz lame, transparent like Wonder Woman's plane |
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I'm a stunna in this game, a federal figure |
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Blowin doj' in the hummer, 50 K on my fingers |
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I'm like a NASCAR winner poppin Mo' and Bill{?} |
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D-Squad don't give a fuck about nobody else |
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I pull a {?} to contain your whole, clique for hours |
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The end result will probably be, pinewood and flowers |
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So I'll advise you deduct your QP's and powder |
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We gangsters and we jackin cowards (yup!) |
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(Chorus) |
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(Sean T) |
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S.T. nigga D-Squad, G.G.D |
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Don't get it twisted motherfucker yeah we do creep |
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We ride out thug, shit we don't die |
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We lay low like mechanics tryin to fix up rides |
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A lot of cats say I'm sick in the head, when I anger it's on |
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Poodles gon' be up missin or dead |
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I chop haters up, like an old-ass sample |
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Or creep through your village, like Stallone in "Rambo" |
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I'm like piranhas on red meat, I'm on you niggaz |
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You afros? Then I guess I got to comb you niggaz |
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So break bread, when you see me dawg hit the flo' |
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I'm like a nigga off the X, unpredicta-ble |
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Imitators always hollerin how gangsta they is |
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But got about as much courage as the Lion in "The Wiz" |
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Shit I'm into pullin shanks on you fake Jake cats |
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Me and my burner hold it down man we go way back |
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(Chorus) |
