Wooh Da Kid - Volume lyrics

I'm so motherf**in' turned up right now Someone please turn Gucci Mane down Brick Squad thugged out, we don't give a f** We hit the club, shoot the club, tear the club up So you should hit the floor. Get low and shut up Hit the floor, get low and shut the f** up You's a b**h, you's a snitch, you a motherf**in' scrub [Verse 1 - Gucci Mane] I pulled up in a 4-door Porsche, set-trippin' 3 young dreadhead n***as riding with me I don't think they like me and I don't like em neither But if they move wrong, I'll red up their white beater I do it for the hood, I do it like no equal I do it for the red, black, yellow, white people I just bought a K, just the other day And I don't play with grown men: I don't like to play I'm so motherf**in' turned up right now n***as hang on me, I don't give a f** right now Well you n***as keep on trying like the little engine that could You think you can, you think you could, I think you pussies should [Hook] [Verse 2 - Gucci Mane] Call me Gucci Flocka Flame, I dun changed my name Call me Frenchie Mane La Flare, Gucc' the Kid..it's all the same I be running, gunning, stunting with 100 k**ers riding You snitching, b**hing, tattle-telling, scared to stand beside me I just bought another house just to house my goons So Icey Entertainment, boy, we just like a platoon The colors in my chain remind me of a cartoon I'll murk your boy in March, they didn't find that boy til June I wish they found him August so that's like "too much too soon" His face was swoll and puffy, bout the color of a prune Brick Squad Movement and, no, you're not apart of it Me, Waka and Wu, Juice and Frenchie Mane started it [Hook] [Verse 3 - Wu the Kid] Iced out bar got me ballin' like the Lakers Homicide around the corner. Where you, in Jamaica? My volume on max, you boys better run I'm a n***a With an Attitude holding on the gun 17 n***as, I left 16 hit Last n***a hit the corner, got his whole head split Told you you're a goner, I'mma leave you dead quick I'm like Wu the Kid, thugged out, we don't give a f** Let your soul meet the sole of the bottom of my Chucks Black car, black tint with the baby tags Stay low to the floor, my midget out the bag