FES TAYLOR - Bang Bang lyrics

rate me

Yeah, When the shots go off

I don't hear nobody talking shit then

Alright, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

I said I been in the game, Remember me from King Just

Ask who running S.I., Niggas think of us

Since Summer Jam, Shit we bout to hit Japan

Flight 10304, Holla at me when you land

A couple grams, Got shows, A couple grand

Couple schemes, Couple scams, No couples holding hands

Married to the game, Miami getting a tan

Hammer really jammed, Gangsta, Really am

My hood Killa Hill streets, Name speak for itself

Cause when the shots rain nigga it's bad for your health

Yeah I got brain from your bitch back of the Stealth

When I bomb fly like an airplane, Wrapped it in wealth

G-5 glock, Plastic'll melt when we burn out

Tell a nigga fasten his belt and bring his shirt out

While niggas doing push-ups, I was giving hook-ups

So the only weight I touch is getting tucked up nigga

I ain't never ran from a motherfucker

Be damned if a motherfucker ever talked tough around me

I'm a damage a motherfucker

Cock hammers at motherfuckers ever try to stop me

I've been pitch'n long enough, Nows my time to shine

Everybody how knows me know I be on my grind

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired so I

Gonna let these checks talk before my gat spark

It's my time to shine

Flip the beat, I ain't in to talking shit

I let the pistol speak like Pistol Pete

My Top Gun niggas let the missile seek

I might watch while I sit in the Jeep

I'm on some Don shit, You on some Nikki Bond snitch

Everybody Frank Lucas but won't harm shit

You won't harm shit, I fire arm grip

And I deodorant rappers under the arm pits

Like trying to calm pits

I'm off the leash, My convicts no conscience

We'll leave a nigga dead on your lawn bitch

True story, Niggas better read the papers

You caught with weed, Do police favors nigga

Axle Foley, Cop badge snatching your Rolley

Judge I don't know what happened to homey

In like two months flat, I'll be back with my Co-D's

My wolves pump crack, Blunt wrap in a O.Z

My swaggers crazy, Clowns try to treat me like

Bags of hazey, Niggas try to blaze me

Jag right to the corner store, I'm that lazy

And bag up, Everything gone by day three

You artists's a waste of a beat

You in too deep like J. Reid, It's much safer to creep

How you choke in the city you from, I'm from the city of Gods

Where bullets go through your kidneys and lungs

I'm a fly nigga, Still stay pretty in the slums

Bubble gum sole on the blue and white Air Ones

Fitted hat low, Stunt'n slow, Riding gear one

From the rotten apple don't compare it to a pair or plum

Long as your bitch hair done then the nails is done

I stunt her on town, Drive her around

Now even the haters admire my style

The twenty sixes on the tires is wild