My desert eagle stirrin' up dust.
On any mother fucker disturbin' my trust.
Ain't a waiter but I'm servin' you up.
Hot shells from the burna fillin' up your gut.
So fuck poppin' the trunk.
I got my gun tucked below the gut.
Never empty I keep it loaded up.
One in the chamber Fifteen in the clip.
Two more magazines in my pocket so I suggest you don't trip.
So just call me six shooter.
And I'm about 9mm away from takin' 12 gauges off your life meter.
With '44 less than '45 shots.
Metaphoricly speekin' I just put one in your knot.
Yes I'll blow up your block.
Kamikazee style.
Bodies left in a pile.
Stretched for miles.
Just you opened your mouth.



SNITCHES GET STITCHES.