Verse 1: Lil Omi G
Look at the way that I'm flipping a brick
Look at the way that I'm flicking my wrist
I got about Ten G's when I make a fist
Yeah, all of my homies are Crips
Look at the way that I'm loading a clip
If you run away then I aim from the hip
They throwing shade but my windows have tint
Yeah look at the way that I whip
Look at my shotties with the pistol grip
Look at the way that I'm making them trip
Sending a shot will make them flip
Just like an office I got magazines
Nine millimeter in the Glock seventeen
Don't need thirty rounds you know my aims clean
They have DOA, That's on the scene
(Yeah)
Verse 2: Lil Omi G
Throwing bombs like funk flex
Wanna flex
You know what is next
When I pull up with a Tec
Never mind that might jam
Chasing my green eggs and ham
Point it at you like Uncle Sam
End the beef when it's in the pan
The rules they don't understand
I got the clips loading the M1 grand
Damn, you know that I am the man
(Bam)
This is generic and typical
Rounds sounding mystical
You are so pitiful
Lyrical
This is so mythical
That it's a miracle
If I don't put fear in you
You are cynical
(Yeah)
Seventeen in the mag, one in the chamber
Got the green in the bag, I don't ever want to talk to a stranger
Lean and a Zag, forest fires I'm the ranger
Seventeen for a f*g, if I feel like I am in danger