[Verse 1: Lil Mouse]

Posted on the nine with some savages

Everybody scared of us cause we be clapping shit

Keep some killers with me ain't with that lacking shit

Call my brother Grupy he shoot like the Mavericks bitch

Hit the car my shooter down he on some savage shit

He on some run up in your house and kill your granny shit

I could turn a good girl into a block-bitch

And have her runnin' round holding on my Glock bitch

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Dooka chase a nigga down with them hollow tips

Me and Ball in that foreign hit your block bitch

Got a hundred rounds if you on that op shit

Don't ride down my block without your lights on

Shotta toting on the block, all night long

I fuck on these bitches with my crew

I see an op I hit that moochie when I shoot

I love flexing pull up in that drop-top coupe

I love designer fifteen hundred for my shoes

Call Milly for a hit bet he gone shoot

Deezy ridin' through your hood in that Benz coupe

Me and Jigga on the nine with the nine

Call up my shooters if you tryin' than you dyin'

I'm in every nigga's hood with my gang

They on dummy if you woofin' you get changed

They ain't shoot for legs they aiming for brains

Free my nigga Nookie, used to keep that thing

Call my cousin Skee he say he in the trap

Fosey keep that burner run up you get clapped

We 'bout a hundred deep everybody in black

Fifty's in the front and fifty's in the back

They throwing bullets so I call 'em quarterbacks

The ops they running-backs when they running back

Roll up with that forty make him have a heart attack

It make him jump up and down no jumping jacks

Everybody ridin' round with a mac

Talking tough Ray put a hundred to his chest

Ain't gotta tell my shooters twice, boy they gone blow

Ski mask though so they really don't know

That Glock on twenty four

Pull up smoke an op and then go pour a four

I got shooters all the way, on the low

I got killers and you know they trained to blow

Bodies dropping police come bu they don't know

And if you acting like a stain than you get poked

Low and loading up that glizzy, smoking dope

In a foreign ridin' deep, with my crew

I paid a lot for my Balmains, I don't wear Trues

My gun hold a thirty some hold thirty-two

I just pulled out the lot, they cut the roof

Paid a lot for my phone its bullet-proof

Nigga's say I will fall off but it ain't true

My team they go crazy for me they gone shoot

Its a lot of sneak dissers in your crew

Don't wanna see my shooters spark don't make 'em shoot