Daveed Diggs - Guns.Up lyrics

[Verse 1] It's over You're gonna love us once we dead and gone We what the game's been missing but we been here all along They out there prayin' to Jesus asking "What would 'Hovah do?" I'd die for what you love, I'd slit my f**ing throat for you Blood in, blood out Blood on the dance floor The Michael Jackson of this rapping, what you dancing for? The Charlie Manson of this mansion, Marilyn Monroe Singing "Happy Birthday" to an industry that's full of hoes Swiss cheesed up When the gun co*k, they freeze up So I gun top, grabbing my co*k, mean mugging the speakers When backed into a corner, every animal attacks You and me ain't nothing but mammals You and me ain't nothing And this rap sh** ain't nothing Drool instead of spit You thought you was a peach, they change you up like you's a pit And it's impossible to part with partying and sh** Take three of these, don't call me This is the prescription, b**h [Hook] Throw your guns up [x2] Throw your guns up if you getting ready for the Throw your guns up [x2] And if you're dying, you should pump your fist and hold on [Verse 2] All these rappers scared Being what they are I run through condoms like weed smokers run through cheap cigars I blow through weed and Swishers like tornadoes blow through houses Disney on these hoes, shouts to all my Mickey Mouses Little plastic coffin Little red Corolla Little patience for the doctor, little supernova A funeral for stars Everybody carry guns Body bag is marked "Public Enemy No. 1" Flavor of the month, I'm licking ice cream paint She like, "You just don't care" Like I'm the one to f**ing blame I gotta feed these kids, they want a poster child It's either rapping or back to the crack and blocks gone wild Block's gone, I can't go back They don't know me and my set I'm out this motherf**er, Dubai on a private jet "Private Ryan" on the screen, my captain offered dub They tried to ground me so I joined the Mile-High Club [Hook] [Verse 3] Work hard for this pimp cup For the tattoos, tears, and the chains Made a milli off a memoir, so what? Pimping never made away with the pain Still a nine on the dresser when I'm dressin' Never be without a Wesson when I'm steppin' Shoot a s**er in the chest in when he flexin' Text back, it's a western, leave a mess in Round here, we shoot the messenger Care less if a messiah or desire Cause it ain't no fun if the homies can't get on my level I'm on fire See, the tire is y'all got all of my attire So fly that I made a call to my supplier He'll fly ya Bring the house from the sticks to the haystack Quick, tell me who will be the [?] I am practically super-sized Practiced thugging since birth Fresh kicks is a new disguise I stay ten toes to the turf Tell them "Shoot for the eyes" Before they see me, I skirt I'm a dirty motherf**er riding dirty in the track Until I dirty work enough to make a motherf**er hurt Man, put hurting on them hoes Man, put a fortune up they nose Men know what men know But men don't know to get low when we slow in the rental Your average tollbooth phantom Clock around my neck co*k back and I pop caps I don't know if they pop back Crack it, I can't have anybody jacking my respect [Hook]