Lox – Bust Your Gun (Feat. Styles & Sheek) lyrics

send* corrections to the typist Shit

is crazy can't.. believe it Ha
haha, oooh, shit, We

don't give a fuck about you frostin' ya hand (fuck) Cause,
knockin' off these bricks then often yo' man That's
the kinda boss that I am (why not) And,
I'ma play shotgun smoke, the pores make a van Hollarin'
at you so deep and so sick wit' the guns When
I walk by the wake I want the cough in the stand (stand up) So
hold up for one minute (what) You
won't catch me in the tub in, the whip Or,
the club without a gun in it And,
don't come through the strip Lookin',
hard in the car with, ya motherfuckin' daughter and ya son in it Lately
I been missin' my fred the, roof pop (too hot) But,
feel me cause he hittin' the stairs the, truth pop Niggaz
think this album cuts (haha )!I'm
like fuck it I'm, the nigga comin through the door wit two revolvers up (two 'em) And,
I'm takin' all drama And,
I spent twenty thou' motherfucker so I just got more problems [Chorus]

You
got'sta bust yo' gun Cause,
if you don't then niggaz know you won't they gon' touch yo' ones Got'sta
bend yo' knife Cause,
if you don't then niggaz know you won't they gon' change yo' life Aiyyo

who, gotta my name huh Who?
think it's a fuckin' game (c'mon) Like
yo' money can't be found under the cane (y'know) Like
yo' body can't be found under the trains Like
this punk we'll shatter apart your brain (bla )!I'ma
thug wit' no scars and, no braids But,
I could aim and, shoot through the heart or your shades I'm
too row plus, too quick on the gat (uh-huh) Hate
water but, I leave you wit' a wills play-back I
don't give a fuck if all y'all go to the cops And,
I don't give a fuck if none of y'all gimmie my props I
got shit in my name and my credit is worse What's
to stop me from shootin' you first FUCK?YOU (haha)! I'm
like tattoos you, forget that I'm there (uh-huh) To
the gun fire perm your hair Miss
you and, go strait through your moms rockin' chair Through,
her back and it ain't stopin' there [Chorus]!

- 2X Bounce

my niggaz c'mon.. Sheek
and S P.rock., rock, on (c'mon) Bust
shots 'til your glock can't pop no more (hahaha) Let
it down 'til your top can't drop no more (uh-huh) Hit
you up 'til your spirit where the Eagles fly (c'mon) Talk
to me if, you really come back then you'll die (c'mon) Make
me believe no, shirt but still got some shit up my sleeve No
asthma makin', it hard to breathe Let's
go aiyyo, Styles take this motherfuckin' mic from me c'mon, Aight

aiyyo.. P'll, tell it like story just, like a narrator Ya
don't mean it we, snappin' it like the Aligators Open
ya eyes so you can see what the drama mean I
hit ya man in the cheek wit' a barber blade And,
I'm in the first floot at the ( )?Parade Forty
on the weights wit' a fifty on the garcarade Always
got the route never, had the heart to beg You
ain't seein' shit 'til a slug rip a part'a head [Chorus]

- 4X