50/50
[Intro]
Pull up the site, seen his niggas pouring bottles
Don’t do tweetin, I do tweakin, you won’t make it to tomorrow
I don’t do the talk, I just do the walk
If I don’t see you in the day, at night, my pistol finna stalk
This shit Flamee
[Chorus]
Bitch, I got two .45s, hit your crib up for a quarter
Turn them sideways, split your shit in 50/50, Arnold Palmer
Drowning Pool, I let the bodies hit the floor, Glock hit his mama
If that boy a bastard child I reunite him with his father
Weapon kissin' face, choppa playin’ “Spin the Bottle”
I don’t shoot to warn, I empty rounds until my clip is hollow
Pull up the site, seen his niggas pouring bottles
Don’t do tweetin, I do tweakin, you won’t make it to tomorrow
[Verse]
I-I-I don’t do the talk, (No!) I just do the walk (Okay!)
If I don’t see you in the day, at night, my pistol finna stalk
Green light in front of him, he speeding in the dark (Errr)
Crack him like a .40 when this .40 hit his top (Buh-Buh!)
Yes, I still got stamina while moving off the Wok
Fuck you think, I ain't gon slide when a nigga get the drop?
Nigga I run it, you niggas is runnin’
If it’s for the bread then you gettin' your crumbs hit
Head: bridges of London, shit fall when I’m dumpin’
Wigs split in abundance and you can’t glue gun it (Brraa!)
I’m just sayin’, got no prob with sprayin’ (I don't)
ICU that nigga, since he thought that I was playin' (Think this shit a game, nigga?)
If that nigga shady, I'ma hit em with that one shot, two shot
I call my Glock "Teanna"
Touch her right and she gon' blow tops
Blood, uh, I breed no thoughts
Ain’t no hoe in my blood
I’m ABK EBK 'til the end of my days, no problem sending no slugs
Niggas not rabid assassins, hop hoods like bunnies, I’m packing strap like I’m Fudd
I do 'em dirty, they dropped in a ditch while it’s pouring that why They call me "Mudd"
[Chorus]
Bitch, I got two .45s, hit your crib up for a quarter
Turn them sideways, split your shit in 50/50, Arnold Palmer
Drowning Pool, I let the bodies hit the floor, Glock hit his mama
If that boy a bastard child I reunite him with his father
Weapon kissin' face, choppa playin’ “Spin the Bottle”
I don’t shoot to warn, I empty rounds until my clip is hollow
Pull up the site, seen his niggas pouring bottles
Don’t do tweetin, I do tweakin, you won’t make it to tomorrow
