The Lox - Bust Your Gun (feat. Styles & Sheek) lyrics

(feat. Styles and Sheek) sh** is crazy.. can't believe it Ha, haha, oooh, sh** We don't give a f** about you frostin' ya hand (f**) Cause knockin' off these bricks then often yo' man That's the kinda boss that I am (why not) And I'ma play shotgun, smoke the pores make a van Hollarin' at you so deep and so sick wit' the guns When I walk by the wake I want the cough in the stand (stand up) So hold up for one minute (what) You won't catch me in the tub, in the whip Or the club without a gun in it And don't come through the strip Lookin' hard in the car, with ya motherf**in' daughter and ya son in it Lately I been missin' my fred, the roof pop (too hot) But feel me cause he hittin' the stairs, the truth pop n***as think this album cuts (haha!) I'm like f** it, I'm the n***a comin through the door wit two revolvers up (two 'em) And I'm takin' all drama And I spent twenty thou' motherf**er so I just got more problems [Chorus] You got'sta bust yo' gun Cause if you don't then n***as know you won't they gon' touch yo' ones Got'sta bend yo' knife Cause if you don't then n***as know you won't they gon' change yo' life Aiyyo, who gotta my name huh? Who think it's a f**in' game (c'mon) Like yo' money can't be found under the cane (y'know) Like yo' body can't be found under the trains Like this punk we'll shatter apart your brain (bla!) I'ma thug wit' no scars, and no braids But I could aim, and shoot through the heart or your shades I'm too row, plus too quick on the gat (uh-huh) Hate water, but I leave you wit' a wills play-back I don't give a f** if all y'all go to the cops And I don't give a f** if none of y'all gimmie my props I got sh** in my name and my credit is worse What's to stop me from shootin' you first? fu*k YOU! (haha) I'm like tattoos, you forget that I'm there (uh-huh) To the gun fire perm your hair Miss you, and go strait through your moms rockin' chair Through her back and it ain't stopin' there! [Chorus x2] Bounce my n***as.. c'mon Sheek and S.P., rock, rock on (c'mon) Bust shots 'til your Glock can't pop no more (hahaha) Let it down 'til your top can't drop no more (uh-huh) Hit you up 'til your spirit where the Eagles fly (c'mon) Talk to me, if you really come back then you'll die (c'mon) Make me believe, no shirt but still got some sh** up my sleeve No asthma, makin' it hard to breathe Let's go, aiyyo Styles take this motherf**in' mic from me, c'mon Aight.. aiyyo, P'll tell it like story, just like a narrator Ya don't mean it, we snappin' it like the Aligators Open ya eyes so you can see what the drama mean I hit ya man in the cheek wit' a barber blade And I'm in the first floot at the [?] Parade Forty on the weights wit' a fifty on the garcarade Always got the route, never had the heart to beg You ain't seein' sh** 'til a slug rip a part'a head [Chorus x4]