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pistol grip poetry - g perico lyrics

[verse 1]
pistol grip poetry
every g*ngb*nger in the city streets notice me
chacha with the choppers
if it ain’t yellow tape, send him straight to the doctor
i’m stashed up nasty
i ain’t tripping if the cops ever gaffle me
that’s what i’m getting money for
i’m the n*gga that the clicc go dummy for
made my first twenty thousand on 112th
to this day it’s broadway, i don’t know nothing else
hoes down on the blade playing patty*cake
the way i put sh*t together, n*ggas had to hate
better watch your step fore you step in some sh*t
thought the homie was a gangster but he messy like a b*tch
shouts out to g snub, he a real one
real innerprize crip that’ll k!ll something
[verse 2]
we got motion from south central to east oakland
real members like “g scrilla, keep it going”
real members hanging out on some ghetto sh*t
if n*ggas don’t want peace then we gon level sh*t
that’s pistol grip poetry
i’m throwing shots and ain’t hiding, imma let ’em know it’s me
chacha with the chops
heard the block was for sale so we cashed out and bought it
finally went legit, no more going on the run
all the sh*t that i done did, god forgive me when i come
gordon stay on a lake, that sh*t proper
it’s a trip cause he getting rich selling urban water
gotta trust the process
i done made my own lane, i’m looking good, i know it’s hard for you to digest
they using my identity but they dissing me
i’m god and these n*ggas like judas, they been k!lling me

[verse 3]
all this pressure sitting up under these palm trees
if i gotta watch then you fasho gotta watch me
yeah, that’s pistol grip poetry
extended clip, i’ll fasho put a hole in ’em
yeah, chacha make ’em backflip
thought i had a homie but them n*ggas always catfish
shout out to my people in them concrete caskets
on the phone calling home for a package
tell my n*gga swiss “won’t be long fore you back again
we turning up but this time i’m having m’s”
yeah, that’s motion
i won’t let ’em trick me out my spot, bro i’m focused
i still got my soul and my heart, i ain’t sold it
i pray to god that n*ggas don’t make me have to smoke ’em
i pray to god that n*ggas don’t make me have to smoke ’em
but if i do, f*ck it, it’s pistol grip poetry

- g perico lyrics

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