It’s that grimebag
Sprinkle meth up in ‘ya f#ckin dime bag
Word that sh#t hit?
I got you smoking cyanide gas
Ya b#tch up in the slaughter house
She might not arrive back
Barber with the glizzy push ya mother f#ckin lining back
Brain splatter with a buckshot
Hit ya b#tch with the butt stock
‘Ion got no mother f#ckin opps
‘Cause the tool bang with a red dot
Close range with a f#ckin headshot
Head top
Make ’em mother f#ckin mags drop
Don’t say ‘nun
Pump make a b#tch n#gg# back up
Act up
b#tch I c#ck it back and I rack one
All y’all n#gg#s soft b#tch I’ll show you where the crime at
Pull up to ya crib, lay everyone inside flat
FMJ green tips, where you finna hide at?
Spin ya block I let it off, everyonе outside wacked
Feds comе ’round this motherf#cka, you best not have sh#t to say
Aiming for ya head, tell ya dead brother you on ya way
Chain smoking opp packs, ya b#tch be my ash tray
You on death row n#gg#, this gone be ya last day
Hit that n#gg# point blank, f#cked up my designer jeans
Simp #ss n#gg#, she was thotting, you call her a queen
All y’all n#gg#s #ss, Ima take a sh#t up on the scene
Drive by, walk up, I up that Glock 17
Spill out ya guts when I dump out this magazine
Leave ’em stomach f#cked like he drank a whole pint of lean
Spray that tool like windex, make sure his crib clean
It’s gone be a cookout if the pigs try to intervene
f#ck!
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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UNDEAD PAPI Lyrics – GRIMEBAG!