Bang Bang

Cassidy

I put the "b" in "banger" Used to getting money Now you know I'm no stranger to the hustle I'm strapped up like a raider from the tomb Force with my platoon I do shit you boys don't do I'm known in the streets as a Nigga that done did it Put infrared beams on your fitted Trust me, you can get it Nigga, you can get it Throw the handle back and watch The motherfucker bang, bang, Bang Yes If I'm not the best, nigga, then I got next Cause I talk that shit like A nigga with hot breath You niggas not threats Them things'll bang in Things could change if you never got shot yet I'm quick to bust Like a man that never got sex But you don't get the message Like a blind man that got text I used to love to box, until I shot Tecs Now I never brawl Like a broad that ain't got breasts I'm not press, I don't wanna talk Man, my motherfucking gun'll spark and Make a nigga somersault I'll shoot the damn thing and Make a nigga handspring Or I'll spark steel and Make a nigga cartwheel Matter of fact, clap the gat Turn him to an acrobat Have the cat flip around before I put the pistol down Your lame mouth which you better Keep my name out I ain't in a gang, I don't bang I just banged out I'm back out riding gun at your head Bullet the center like Bonham Shotgun with the shotgun seat reclining I pop up on niggas Let it off, close shop up on niggas Infection, stay in the cut on niggas I'm in a whole nother section I could look in the mirror, my reflection Moves like Inception Extraordinary gentleman What more could I say? Got the picture in the cut, like Dorian Gray I'm a shooter like Allan Quartermain I give you more than pain First page in the hard nigga Hall of Fame Duane Darock on the beat SP the Ghost, I make it pop on the streets Probably in the spot for a week One eye open, with the Glock on a sleeve I let the thing blam They call me the Rain Man I'm out of bullets, get 'em hung, nigga Hang Man You get me, hang it up there's problems I flame it up Bang it up, snap back, long t, banger tucked Yup, my block pitching, yeah I got pigeons I'm into cooking I fuck with bitches that got kitchens If I can't find Jordan Then I'll rob Pippen I leave 'em bloody and skin red Like Rob Griffin Home real spit, the shotty blast You gon' see the body bags Men in black, no Will Smith Real shit, used to grind and we still grind Beefing with the grill time, full metal Steel time Niggas getting stole on trying to steal mine Cock pack, peel mine tape 'em up, real time Jump you, the mask on and Berettas bang Sound clear, holmes? Out here We gonna let it bang

Written by: Lyrics © T.R.O. INC.Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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Bang Bang

Cassidy

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