They Call That Gangsta - Blaze Ya Dead Homie

Top down, bitches drop down to their knees

When they’re in the midst of some real G’s

Real G shit — AK’s with banana clips

Bring out the inner gorilla you son of a bitch

I’mma take a big hit, hold it in, let it go

Inhale, exhale, only marijuana smoke

No joke, man I ain’t even laughing

Ain’t no time to argue, squeeze a trigger and let the gun blast

All my hitters and bitches and real killers and drug dealers

I hold it down for you cause I be a vandetta in G flag

Of what color

Bitch you look at me sideways I cut your eye out with a box cutter

See me dog no collar, no chain

And my bark and bite are equal so they one and the same

I ain’t new to the game so don’t play a punk with me

Grab your toilet paper cause I turn your whole life shitty

(They call that gangsta)

What I’m doing, who I be

Ain’t nobody dead or alive even fucking with me

(Gangsta)

Born in the back of a lowrider with hydraulics and spokes

And them low pro tires

Baptizin' 40's behind the liquor store

With my young G’s, so we dreamin of gettin more

(Gangsta)

That’s what you call gangsta, y’all RuPauls

No balls when we check of your shit you guys are too small

We move off in the direction, with less stress and more sexin'

From the section, that means your woman are now our lesson

Me and Blaze don’t check, they want 'em down

Collect what it gotta be in our circle of this shit

No sweatin', these suckas know all occasion

Cause punks they get their hatin'

We sprayin' at the sweater

We got a Satan at gun point already

Let it rain confetii, if you dead and gone that’s savvy

We skeet off in them pirellis

Them boys were never jelly

We shoot it out, get burried

I’m mashin', pumping out in my box chevy like who’s ready?

My belly always stuffed with chumps — I eat em up

With their luck so what, we’re never help you ain’t born tough

Note to self, you see me head down, let’s talk

I’m beating my chest, I’m worldwide you can’t get enough

Too many wankstas?

and prankstas

Not enough gangstas, gun butters and shankstas

Tell me what you bang for, I’m pulsin' these niggas anger

These fists cuffed tangler the Queens County Strangler

Lex the Hex Master, trenching the necks bastard

Claiming he drops classics, smack 'em back to Jurassic

Practicin' black magic while makin' factory caskets

I’ll leave gash, stickin' and movin' just call me Cassius

We’re not affiliated, packin' heavy radiator

Sorry, real G’s don’t find skinny jeans intimidating

All initiated cowards get asphyxiated

Flow’s sophisticated so Lex is highly anticipated

Faith tainted, my face painted, I must be sick

Maintained to stay faded to fuck a bitch

And by that time next year they y’all know me

Hex the Master, The R.O.C.

and Blaze ya Dead Homie