bang bang
Shooting till my mother fucking hand fall off
Ya track-stars; the gun shot ran y'all off
I pop like a soda watch the can fall off
I can kill y'all and y'all boss
Shotguns, handguns, louder than a band drum
You fuckin with the drum major, lemme play you the anthem
Bang-bang-bang-bang, call it heavy metal
I say bang bang, bitch, I make you feel every letter
B-A-N-G, B-A-N-G
G-A-N-G, we spray then leave
We play when we, no, we play N-E-
V-E-R; C.P.R
Doctor Carter, are you the disease, boy?
Young Money, motherfucker, these these boys
Bitch is you crazy? We's retards
Watch Nina, Mac and Tommy have a brief menage like
(*bang-bang*, *bang-bang*)
Like (*bang-bang*, *bang-bang*)
Yeah, Soulja Boy on the beat
But you can call me Chef Boyardee
Cause I'ma heat this shit, and I'ma eat this shit
Planet Earth is my toilet, you're beneath this shit
Then I flush and wipe my ass, gunslinger like I pass
I cock back and throw a bomb, now, Hail Mary
You tale-fairy, fairytale, very frail
And yeah, we got them hammers, try and hit every nail
Let them sail up the river with that ho shit
Or leave them face-down in the fucking ocean
I ain't on no other shit, bitch, I'm on some more shit
That, "Hello, how you doing? I am at your front door" shit
That, "Aww, naww, he got a gun! Oh shit!" shit, shit
Okay, it's Young Money, what you know 'bout it?
The semi-auto will rip open your body and tear the soul out it
And all that fronting shit, nigga, I don't know about it
Call me Master J, bitch, I'm so 'bout it
Even my ho 'bout it, and don't doubt it
'Cause we both would be Angelina and Brad'n
Spazzin' and blastlin', blastin' and rat-a-tat-in'
And nah, I don't cook, but like potatoes I mash 'em
I don't give a fuck about your money or your fashion
Shots through the window of your brand new Aston
You get out, try to run, now ya chest where them bullets crashin'
Pine box niggas, no crutches, no casts
No wheelchair, just the two-door long black wagon
Flowers on the side and four wheels to steer
I ain't never scared, and I ain't never care
So fuck what they doing over there, I'm doing it here
You're nothing like me, fuckboy, don't be outlandish
We gorillas in the mist, y'all just some Kung-Fu Pandas
Sweet like Fantas, my blood is the same as Bruce Banner's
Hit record on the cameras, motherfuck all the bullshitting antics
They saying he ain't gotta get a clearance from Wayne, that's a disadvantage
Being broke is a foreign language for me like Spanish
Musically, we direct thrillers, call me John Landis
It's the 504 slaughterhouse blood-bath
Little nigga stand tall like a giraffe
One-man gang, animal, cannibal
Eat rappers for dinner, my nickname "Hannibal"
Guns for days I show you what this cannon do
Hit you, split your mothafucking man in two
I grab the chopper, South Park, that’s how I hold the toy
I aim and crank that bitch like Soulja Boy
I’m in the streets one deep, I can hold my own
And shit, it’s only one seat and I control the throne
Look, bitch, I’m on my crazy ass shit
You see the gun poking out like Sheneneh lips
Watch your lips when talking
Cause I be on grave nigga leaking in your coffin, rest in piss
When I die, let me rest with clips
Rambo, I’ma go out on my Sylvester shit, bang!