Lyrics
See if you come my way, I roll with tec-9's, AK’s
Murder machines, for where I hang and stay
Obey the laws of the street, 'fore yo' bitch ass get beat
And I’m hoein' and I’m only out to rob and cheat
Get your pistols and rags, nigga prepare to blast
It ain’t no questions or discussion, get the dope and the cash
We came up quick, plottin' on real bitch shit
Three-hundred and fifty G’s, three niggas was split
Flippin' and servin' chickens
Any dirty work — I was down with it
A true soldier and I stay committed
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You better get your strap cause when I see you we blastin'
And when we run up on you ain’t gon' be no askin'
Cause me and my homies we just straight out blast
I guess the war’s on, get your soldiers and let’s go to war
Put in work Death Row — even the score
Mini machine guns, grenades, and forty-fives
We crazy in the land where it’s hard to survive
Catchin' niggas slippin' if you’re Bloodin' or Crippin'
On a mission blastin' niggas if you all wit it
You see we bang for a livin', use the gun
Drugs and prison, niggas doin' hella time
Roll with these scandalous niggas
Back looped out, smoked out
Hit another one, I’m bombed out, smoked out
So we load and swerve in the glass house and we roll the street
My brand niggas run up on you so we pull up the heat
I said «What's up?»… he replied with the wrong set
It’s my duty and my job to put this nigga to rest
Boom, boom — shots from the tec rain out
Another wrong nigga dead, that’s what I’m talkin' about
Niggas yell my name out and say they gon' kill me
I ain’t worried 'bout a thang, y’all niggas can’t kill me!
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You better get your strap cause when I see you we blastin'
And when we run up on you ain’t gon' be no askin'
Cause me and my homies we just straight out blast
I kick off the war, with a calibur fo'- fo'
Knockin' down doors and niggas wonder what I came for
Jumpin' out of buckets, dumpin' on them brand motherfuckers
Who claim for the fame, puttin' somethin' up in you bustas
Looped out, feelin' good no doubt
With a tec ready to put some motherfuckin' heads out
Servin' fools, pull around the corner
Slow down and jump out, to show you what I’m all about
I’m yellin' «Fuck you nigga!» and I hope you die
Showin' y’all niggas how real gangstas ride
Come up workin' for birds early, busta young died early
Ridin' dirty with a gauge underage
Had to drop off the pump, that’s when the real shit start
Y’all bitch ass niggas ain’t got heart, y’all cowards
We give it up, inject pain on niggas and conversate with the trigger
Blast, escape, then get to dippin'
Set trippin’s like an everyday thang, where we hang
Still Tha Gang, where we blast to maintain at close range
AK’s, 357's, and tec’s — all kind of shit
Catch you niggas slippin' because we Crippin' on the set
Willin', looped out, your homie just got out
Dogg Pound 'bout to take you niggas out
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
(You see my homies is killas)
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
You see my homies is killas and we do this for passion
