Louder

You know I'm making sales on the hill, slinging the fishscale

The motherfucking cracks and shit

In the ghetto state of mind, niggas slinging dimes

Doing three to nines in the grind

But I'm trying to flip and change my ways, but not my techniques

Holding tecs when I walk, tecs when I talk, tecs when I sleep

If you don't keep heat sparking you a dead man walking

Prepare for war, ready to sleep, 'cause see me, more ready to squeeze

You, be more ready to breeze

And I'm real and you just a stunting MC

When we say you know how we roll, we talking how deep

When we say you know what we hold, we talking 'bout heat

And we keep hundreds of guns, 'cause talk is cheap

Hey homes, you better run when you see me in the street

Try to diss me in your rhymes, I'm a warn you one time

Then out come them nines, nigga

I heard he supposed to be known for busting his gun, him and his man

Out in South Jamaica, BKA the desert land

Going at P, you finished, man

You's a flea, a peasant-ass nigga beneath me

Our shots connect with bodies, ask your chief

You better run to your boss about me

We kill niggas like you and fuck the police

I build niggas like you, you manufactured by me

Studied every mob song, every CD

Now you trying to grow up and squeeze your foot in my Louis

My Ballys, my Timbs with the Gucci

My two shot with the red beam, shoot mulies

You niggas going at me, get your teeth loosened

Your chain get popped and all you niggas run from my bullets

A mob nigga to the fullest, no bullshit

Catch niggas having their fun, then we ruin it

And when I'm spitting that fire, I know it burns you up, nigga

When they play your song, nobody turn you up, nigga

Your rap style sucks and your style is chump, boy

Y'all niggas ain't ready, you don't want it with Big Noy

Homeboy, don't lie, you never handled no guns

Never sold no drugs, you was never known

No scars, no bars, no pumping, no bucking

Stop fronting, homeboy, you never touched no one

You don't know what thugging is, from the womb to the tomb

What you know about visits, nigga, boots and balloons?

Or on the street with the smack and the spoon

Slinging dope from 12 mid to 12 noon, the streets with the goons

What you know about it, dun? All my niggas on the run

All my niggas in the grave, and most up in the cage

And how they come home, rocking the specs with the waves

Or thugging with the Timbos, rocking the braids

You down, kid, this right here for all ages

Cop the mixtapes, 'cause radio, they scared to play this

We too thug for them, so we say fuck the haters

And throw it up for my niggas coming with the gators

My ladies with the Chanel, riding for the players

Believe me, man, nothing's gon' stop us from getting paper

It's a wrap for it, man, just adapt to it

We got it mastered, for every track, we write classics, nigga