Blammer

Fuck (Nigga) Shit This a blammer, you get blammed tryna run down Uh, I got titties on a AR, this a hunnid round (Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on–, bitch!) Lil gang want the kill, now you can't even escape Spread racks on my arm, this shit on display Fuck spread racks, new money, this shit I just made Call the fuckin' playback, what they want? They get skipped anyway Pussy nigga ran last week, we catch him anyday You pussy but you havin' pounds, lil' gang might run you down Buddy got the zaza, where the strains, where the fuckin' pack? Think you finna walk down on lil' Fast, better be on attack I was in some real shit, I had to fuckin' think Gang'nem know we pop the ATM's, and then we pour up drink Think you finna try this shit? I'on know what lil' buddy think Came in with racks, came in with drip, what the fuck you on? I got hella plays, juggs on my phone Run that shit, run yo' fuckin' sack, run yo' fuckin' load Better get down wit' the fuckin' fye, or get out the road I got fire for a pussy boy, pussy nigga know, we gon'– (Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on–, bitch!) Gang mix moonrocks, we on moonrocks Buddy draw down wit' a big ass gun, run him out his socks We can't lack inside the fuckin' dark, blickies already caught If you see it 'bout your fuckin' business, drop the fuckin' dot We gon' end smoke wit' mystery, when Fast poppin' out I might put this shit on Fast, put this shit on me Lil' bro said he's scared for his life, that's why he stay on beat I can't go nowhere wit' that glizzy, like it's glued to me Anytime lil flame pop out, bitch, I got a tool or three Ain't 'een gotta cock it back, know we smokin' rocket pack Gun down Tired of fuckin' tryna scam a bank, they givin' me one rounds He done tapped in wit' a villain, pussy this a villain-boy I done put attachments on ARP's, I'm havin' different toys Pull out pape', adjust this shit We got zaza in the bricks Keeping all my fuckin' sticks Lil boy, I can't sell you shit (Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on–, bitch!) This the real zaza pack, not no regular weed Promise I might walk a nigga down in Top Villan-tee's I might bring this shit out early, on the newest day Lil' buddy tryna be a opp, or gon' be my newest plate Put me on a dummy list, bet I make it out It's a drought inside the fuckin' hood, run inside yo' house I forgot to bring my ski today, but I'm poppin' out On the drank, it got me feelin' down, got me leanin' down You gon' catch lil Lazer trimming 'round, catch me out of bounds Niggas know lil' fast fuckin' step, walk down and you left You get blowed down, twelve poppin' out, ain't no more stuntin' 'round Do a dirty crime, we in the trench, we in the dirty bricks Pussy boy ain't gettin' no fuckin' money, they doin' dirty shit I got Chromes on my scale, he think this a fairytale Walk down wit' some shit, everybody gon' back-back Phew, phew (Welcome to Clayton County, money, money on–, bitch!) Fuck, shit