Gab Gotcha - 2-3 Break lyrics

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Gab Gotcha - 2-3 Break lyrics

[Verse 1: Psycho Les] People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple We get caught, it's strictly mental A stone crook, I don't go by the book You can't fool me with your gangster look I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out And don't try talking bold Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall" What? You punk, who's gonna defend you When I bumrush your a** and stick an icepick in you Quick, your b**h caught a splinter from my dick Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's) The bed slammer can stick a ho With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again (2, 3, Break!) [Verse 2: Fashion] I got so much of this style coming from my lips while Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherf**ing sh** piles Bang, I got my own thang, gang ain't it proper Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper Let 'em f**ing know who's Kool where I'm coming from Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em Bagging 'em, plus I hit their hoes in the mean Cause all I ever want is fame, b**hes, and the green Seen crazy n***as get lost in the shuffle With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble Ta-dow, now, that's how it's falling Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherf**ing balling Hanging with my crew on the Peaksk** plain I throw my sh** when laying a b**h so get off my dick Trick, you know my style, no it ain't no use Cause I can keep your ho wet like a f**ing douche (2, 3, Break!) [Verse 3: JuJu] Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner My rhymes will make n***as collapse into a coma Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission Deadly with intent to shell the opposition f**ing with this flow, come on, yo that's treason n***as f** around and get shot for no reason Junkyard n***a, represent every time Corona's in the house and yo Gab! [Gab] (Off the Richter Scale) My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war Come forth, I bust my fronts with your spinal chord Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault Cause I a**ault n***as who couldn't launch sh** with catapaults So if you ever hear the name Gab One Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun