[Verse 1: Ghetts]

Click clack on ‘em

Push a wig back on ‘em

Anybody that's ever let off a .45

Knows about the kick back on ‘em (Buck I!)

I was in a gun range… (When?)

On Sunday

Everyone says

Nobody ain't ever this accurate!

Marksman!

Don’t believe me? Go and ask them

Hey, you cheeky little bastard

You really better mind who you’re bargin’

Yo blud

Oh you think you’re… hold up

Wait there

I zoom in like a bloodclart close up

Man better know when I come around

I got a shank on me or I got something else

I’m like "say that again?

That’s not what you said, you said something else"

You ain't nothing that, I ain't never come across

Lick him with the buckle of the belt!

Why should I be shook?

He ain't done fuck-all himself

I have, that’s why I don’t rate my man

Has he really got something in his side bag?

He's just posing, side man

Just spoke to my nigga Kyze

He said he don’t know this yout, me neither

Looks like he forgotten who I am

Here’s what comes with the reminder

[Hook: Ghetts]

R6, two ryders, bomb blasting

You, target, head-top, casket

Okay, bastards, questions, no answers

Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness

R6, two ryders, bomb blasting

You, target, head-top, casket

Okay, bastards, questions, no answers

Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness

[Verse 2: Kyze]

Just got the word from Ghetts (brother)

Said there’s a couple nerds on the set (uh huh)

I said let me turn on the TEC

Cause I’m from the era where you learn to respect (man)

Nah I ain't talkin’ ‘bout your olders (nah)

I’m talkin’ ‘bout the real deep rollers

I’m talkin’ ‘bout them shotgun loaders

Riders that really held the ends on its shoulders

Cos while you was nice on the fence

I was right in the trench with a 9 or a 10

All this, at my own expense

Thinkin’ that this don’t make sense

Look at all the dough in the ends

All these ballers around and they don’t buy skengs (like dem man)

And they don’t pay rent

That’s why I walk around with a face of intent

That’s why I had to flip out on ‘em

Jump out the whip and pull the stick out on ‘em

No talking, no lip out on them

I eat man’s melon, then spit the pip out on ‘em

Till they said I ain't normal again

'Cause a couple O.G’s couldn’t war me again

Look, my little old school friend

Suck your dad, I ain't touring again

See if you call me that, I might fly one at you

You know it's not love if I ain't smiling at you

Stop friending man's friends and trying that move

Don’t fault me for him I ain't tryin’ that yout

Fuck that yout, I’ve had enough of him

Back out the ting, bullets smother him

I hope his crew come and cover him

.38 spinning, lookin’ like it's buffering

[Hook]

R6, two ryders, bomb blasting

You, target, head-top, casket

Okay, bastards, questions, no answers

Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness

R6, two ryders, bomb blasting

You, target, head-top, casket

Okay, bastards, questions, no answers

Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness