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Slimmy B | Let Em Have It Lyrics (GANGIN II)

  • Artist: Slimmy B
  • Album: GANGIN II


Talkin down your own bro, sound like a dork to me
Want beef but you snitchin, sound like pork to me
Nigga thought that I was lackin, keep a torch with me
And I be rockin with them shooters, they escort for me

Police say its muddy, thirty shells in that whip
Wet bab, I could probably sell in that shit
Keep on fuckin with the devil, it be hell in this bitch
Keep on actin like he tough and catch a shell in this bitch

Talkin rich when you broke, thats a bad mouth
Follow the next niggas moves, thats a bad route
And every window rolled up, its attack out
And Ill face every fear before I back down

Pussy soundin like the gang, thats a copycat
We four deep up in the rentals with all kind of straps
And if K-Rod take your bitch then come and buy her back
I got them demons in my body, dont know how to act

I dont f*ck with niggas and I never did
And if I hit it from the back I probably touch her rib
Side nigga to his bitch, I got better dick
And for them niggas wanna diss, I got a longer clip, bitch

Rob Vicious, fuckin niggas bitches
Posed to hit her once and now she back cause she addicted
Niggas talkin down then we gon pull up with extensions
Its Vicious, I gotta get money and break bitches
Robby Vicious got that TEC, he gon chip somethin
Bullets flyin out that TEC, watch it rip somethin
Say you sippin on that Tech, you dont sip nothin
Say you smoke with no rec, come and get some
Robby Vicious got that chop, leave you holey
Tell the cops you dont know me
Hundred round bust you down like a Rollie
Hit the ground, you talk down on my homies

Im a dope dealer baby, let me change your life up
Goin thirty off a perc-30 with the pipe tucked
Fendi hold the forty, we might take your life bruh
Shawty want the winning team, no niggas like us
All my niggas want the smoke, no niggas fight us
I aint worried bout that bitch, I had to boss my life up
Run game on a bitch, game on a bitch
Pop a pill then came on a bitch, gang on that bitch

Uh, Slimmy motherfuckin B
Red bottom for the cleats, twenty-two up in this gleek
Bitch Im really in these streets, Crest nigga, three Cs
Thinkin I was fuckin for the free, bitch please, uh
Been slidin all night, no sleep
Cuffin on that thot bitch, let the ho be
Paid a band plus for this Louis long sleeve
All that dissin, six feet is where you niggas gon be, uh
And when I hit your bitch its from the backend
Eight-fifty for the belt, thats why Im saggin, uh
Like Nike I just do it, no practice
Niggas want smoke, shit, f*ck it, let em have it, uh
This stick up on my hip but this aint Madden
In the Aston, gettin head from a ratchet
Glock plastic, make your mama pick a casket, uh
And if you aint talkin bands, aint no collabing, bitch


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