that real street shit when its from the heart
dont be going talking out your ass and get torn apart
seperated like a foster kid
metal with spark
you could tell the difference from my style like finaa
never share my plans with a hoe
know how bitches talk
got me digging your grave
body sourrounded by white chalk
get load of these cowards you know he frontin
while his heart is smaller then the 50 bags that
we dumping
if a nigga touches my click aint nothing to fuck wit
my pipe remind dese bitches of guns
taht i be busting lay em out sippin the stout
swallow if means nothing
im a g but with an o in the front
i aint a youngin im a grown ass man
the pound is like a pops
grinding you little fucks wetting your tounge to talk
you better get armored up if its drama we follow up
leave without the guns you crazy
your dead a jar with dust motherfuckers

chorus: its a craze everybody love it X 2

Thanks to (Dino) for correcting these lyrics. Jan 16, 2008