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bang bang - santos lyrics

[verse 1 – santos]
trauma unit, all my n-ggas riding with me
the rider movement, it’s murder city, crime committee
n-ggas think they batman, got they robins with them
i’m the motherf-cking joker, turn it into gotham city
plus i sell dimes of sticky
and wherever i’m at i got the trauma with me
if my n-ggas spark that dip or that white get in me
what’s his name? where he at? who want to rob him with me?
come on, too deep, i got a squad of 50
i live uptown, but that west side is in me
big brother gone, that’s how i got john up in me
say his name wrong and you got a problem with me
cause i’m past rhyming
i’ll k!ll a motherf-cker for his watch, i guess he had bad timing
cause i ain’t never been nowhere near perfect
i just air sh-t out till it got a clear surface
they won’t talk about nothing either
cause f-ck talking, bullsh-t outrun a cheetah
black guns, white c0ke, jungle fever
two cars, six n-ggas, a dozen heaters
we bout to blow up the speakers
it’s a west philly anthem, bottles up, puffing reefer
a few dyk-s, a couple divas
and some crazy puerto ricans that eat you up to a hundred squeezers
i’m bout mine, west philly outlaw
uptown trapping, i’m always outside
so if it’s bout grind, and your block’s that sweet
i can turn seven grand to a pound that week
oh you ain’t got a whip? catch him in his man jeep
bullets hit the side of your door, get out the back seat
mg’s ride for me and my man streets
i make your f-cking life a [?] from last week

[verse 2 – rok steady]
n-ggas better listen up
got hammers, c-ck hammers, god’ll hit em up
doc stich him up, k not fixing up
throw hot sh-t for bucks, more hot sh-t for grands
in the middle of the heat y’all get the fans
in the middle of the heat, man i’m flipping grams
fifty rocks, that’s a grand
in my mouth, nor my hand
street smarts, tear drops, pour em in a plastic bag
heat spark, red dot, i’m pointing it at your f-cking head
homie, please believe me
if not then you get shot, bleeding easy
tick tock it’s your time to go
oh, wait, that’s only twelve and i need sixteen
if only got twelve and i need sixteen
might catch you after 12 with my m16
then p-ssy you know how it would go
let’s roll

[verse 3 – trap daddy]
young philly johnny
known for carrying tommys
keep them goonies behind me
looking, ain’t hard to find me
young h o, got that rap game ye flow
they bout that rapping, but f-ck em i’ll let a k blow
h bout the money, my 20’s the size of legos
all my n-ggas shoters, they shoot whenever i say so
i stay fresh, man, the sh-t i’m wearing’s a day old
i’ll make your breakfast, i’m holding you like an ego
the bullsh-t, when it ever stops
cops in and out the spot
gun full of hard heads, i send em in and out your top
good duckers, then f-ck us, send them in around your block
they really bout the beef, i’m bout the spinach in the pot
i trap a lot of chains, but i spin that sh-t a lot
young gates in the building, i’m just tryna chase a million
i made it through the struggle, through the prison, through the k!lling
i’m a gun with a full clip and a clip with no ceiling
i drive by fast, man you just might miss him
h bout his business so baby he don’t get it
i’m a hood n-gga, i don’t f-ck with the cops
when h in the building something getting smothered and shot
bad chains, short aim, man i come with a lot
brown nosing with them n-ggas, i’m just coming for top
i keep things with crack and smoke, and racks of dope
and i’m known for moving the rugers and clapping them coats
and i’ll shoot through you, [?] i’ll give you toast
i love lugers and rugers but i rock the coat
die young like ali, i’ll rock your boat
this’ll circ-mcise you inside you, stop your post
and i suggest you n-ggas don’t run, just stop and hope
fore i k!ll something, you know it, the boy mean
h burn slow like meth and morphine
and spin a back burner, skinny n-gga with a fat burner
they call me young jh slash nat turner
my jump ball finger, b-tch it’s a pen and a pad
ten in the mag, look slim in the jag
with cinnamon rags, crack i sell venom in bags
n-ggas love me cause my sh-t’s street
i done already bust burners and hustled on corners
hide em in fish grease
since nas, i’m the hottest n-gga with chipped t–th

- santos lyrics

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