Lyrics
Pick up to six lines to make a card.
Intro
No white flags, don't call my phone
None of that bullshit, I don't wanna hear no apologies, nigga
Shootin' up all y'all spots, nigga
Your trap, your studios, nigga, your shows (Gang)
Verse 1
Don't call my phone with the drama, you know I took it
Real veteran, I could tell you a rookie
Had to soup up the whip, 12 tryna book me
Never took my chain, I'm far from pussy
In Atlanta bangin' just like I'm Tookie
5-9 Brim Gang, the set that I'm pushin'
Serving junkies out the park while 12 lookin'
Shoot at your Toyota, I am not hookin'
I set up shop anywhere, you cannot move me
Fuckin' on hoes that used to overlook me
Vacuum seal the pack but I can not mute it
In all black, man, my gang like G-Unit
Talk about money, I speak that shit fluent
FN Magazine holdin' 'em flue tips
Totin' on a stick the size of a broom stick
Better get yo' bitch, she fuckin' the movement
I already know these niggas assumin'
How you trapping but your ass ain't improvin'?
Thirteen when I first had that toolie
If it's on-site, you know that I'm shootin'
Young nigga in the fuckin' streets
I was doing this while you was hoopin'
Been up on gang, you could not fool me
Took 'em off of the set, he a goofy
Big dogs in the hood try'na use me
Now I'm up on 'em, you can't recruit me
Shoot up your set like a movie
Out the window, doubled down with two Uzis
Catch him lackin', walk him down like he oozin'
Niggas in the hood swear that they knew me
Hire a hitman, pull up in a Dually
Fuckin' on a bitch that look like Karrueche
Outro
Tu sabes que xopa nigga
Calle siete
Ahora mismo, nigga
Todo lo haria
Yo tengo mi pistola, nigga
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