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Blunt To My Lip Lyrics - Artist : Ramirez
[Project Pat:]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips [Ramirez:] Pull up to your mammy house, I put yo' family straight to sleep Ridin' with the duster by my side, I'm 'bout to sweep the streets Tell them hoes the score was murder when I hit their fuckin' town 'Tato tip all on that bitch so that they don't make no sound It's the Grey*59, step inside the Columbine Where you witness your demise and this throne will still be mine Grey Gorilla, MAC-9, make your heart flatline Speaking 'bout my fuckin' clique, buckle up and throw down [Project Pat:] Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips [Fat Nick:] Oh shit, here we go, these Percs and Xans, I'm feelin' low We skrrt the Porsche, the engine blow, I been too rich, now watch me glow Draco twitch, now watch me empty out a clip Shoot, shoot, shoot, bet your luck I'll hit your shit VVS my neck, dripped out to my wrist Where the hunnid, hunnid, hunnid, smoke is in a brick I got too much on me, that's why your bitch, she want me Iced out, all gold, hear the boy froze [Project Pat:] Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips [Ramirez:] Watchin' for the police 'cause they always tryna catch me, mane A 2-11 in progress, I'm 'bout to rob this sucka out his shit Tie him up and tape his mouth, told this bitch, "Don't make no sound" Throw that busta in the trunk, 'bout to take him hellbound Out the grave, you can't kill what's dead, I like my rum bloody red My souvenir; this sucka head, and in the water's where he dread Servin' up that hot lead, I like the shotty 'cause it spread Fuckin' with the Killa, promise by the end, you'll be dead [Project Pat:] Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips |
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