Hustle Gang - Talk My sh** lyrics

[Peanut da Don:] Your crew ain’t no k**ers, your hittas ain’t hit sh** What’s your body count n***a, y’all n***as don’t live that sh** All these extended clips, [?] sick dicks Every n***a made my hit list, got scratched off like quick pick You’re not a gangsta, you’re a crook Put down a gun, get a book You’re just a diamond with some fire, that’s why your shooting don’t look Smile soldier, no train Then IKEA get hit s**er living in the rep, that’s why your wig get split They say they some shooters, I don’t believe these n***as They say they some hittas, well I don’t need these hittas [Trae tha Truth:] Nah, I don’t need these hittas, they gon’ turned me into a k**er Tryna flush ’em like a sh**ter, fire comin’ through your pillow Bet I make a n***a quit, 150 in the stick I’m just tryna get ya fixed, put this all up in ya mix Anywhere I go I’m piped down, play with tha Truth and get wiped down If I go to beef and I bite down, pull up on ya black out like it’s lights down Ski mask and a driver, gun checkin’ for a coast Let them youngins go to work, they just here to get ya [?] Why you playin’ with a boss, you ain’t graduate the corner Keep it movin’ in a new whip, truck’ll beat you to a coma Get your b**h cause I was on her, head shot now she a domer When I’m done I’m getting lost, sorry for you I’m a loner I don’t care bout ’em I finesse ’em, every diamond on me random Gang flier then a jet, I just need a place to land’ em [Young Dro:] I got a stick, let it hit I’m finna talk my sh** Run up on me get brrr Hoes all in your fit [Trae tha Truth:] Run up on me get hit Let me talk my sh** Bet I talk with the stick I ain’t tryna hear sh** [Young Dro:] Air it out to my man con, I’ma shoot y’all and some When I pull up with a stick, we gon’ hold you for ransom My gun shaking, hold me Like [?] I got a nose bleed Bukub**bukub**booboomboom Like Pac n***a, you can’t hold me Tryna turn up on me, get shot in the mouth We ain’t playing b**h, not in the South I k** ya outside, and not in the house I got respect for your momma, but not your spouse I tie that b**h up and rape her too b**h show me the bricks, the boy got an account Twenty two in ya stomach, and b**h runnin’ a leg Keep squirming around and get one in the head Boy I’m gon’ out you, I don’t nothing ’bout you It’s Hustle Gang, you don’t care bout who? Bout to pull quick, cause y’all ain’t doin’ sh** I load the machine gun up out you Brrrr brr brr brr pa pa pa, ya feel me [Young Dro:] I got a stick, let it hit I’m finna talk my sh** Run up on me get brrr Hoes all in your fit [Trae tha Truth:] Run up on me get hit Let me talk my sh** Bet I talk with the stick I ain’t tryna hear sh** [Young Dro:] I got a stick, let it hit I’m finna talk my sh** Run up on me get brrr Hoes all in your fit [Trae tha Truth:] Run up on me get hit Let me talk my sh** Bet I talk with the stick I ain’t tryna hear sh**