Gun Music - Royce 5'9

«You get old enough, you remember a reason why everybody wants to whack you

You believe them all, but you know somebody got to be lying

Or maybe, they’re all lying

When you can’t see the angles no more, you’re in trouble, baby

You’re in trouble»

Gun music, fuck a ho, slap a foe, smoke a blunt to it

If you’re a chump, turn it off, this is dump music

If you’re a boss, send them niggas to the store to it

That old school shit

This is that gun music, fuck a ho, slap a foe, smoke a blunt to it

If you’re a chump, turn it down, this is thump music

If you’re a boss, send them killers on a prow to it, now bow to it

This is that gun music

Fuck a hit, radio can suck a dick

I go to MTV and 106 to buck a clip

Shoot that nigga Terrence in his head

If he tell him «fuck his mama» then he probably got his parent in his bed

Hardbody, flow should be illegal like a sawed shotty

Come to the Mo, you better call somebody

Slap a sissy ass nigga cause he sissy ass

I don’t need no motherfucking reason, I’ll pick his past

Niggas be like, «why you so mad, Nickel?», shut the fuck up

I tell the fliest bitch in the world I’m just as stuck up

Yeah, and that’s how I feel, fight me about it

Down to do time over this shit, write me about it

I’m ending any problems, sometimes, I even start them

I take a nigga balls off them, leotard them

Pop go the motherfucking weasel like a R-A-G-E in Harlem

Nigga this is that

You know if you murder, I’m here to see you

I got my wife and my nigga, Kino, on pins and needles

They don’t know if they gon' get that Royce caught his death call

Or that department of corrections collect call

I’m going to hell in a hand basket

I whoop a nigga’s ass good, that asswhooping is handcrafted

I rather put them triggers to you cause niggas will sue you

You’re fucked like I just donated my liver to you

If you ain’t get that last line nigga, drink with me

I got muscle out here, I roll around with strength with me

Yeah, your boy drinks but your boy thinks

Show up with niggas that’s born to be what you boys can’t

We’re so deep in this motherfucking club

I got you contemplating leaving your crew like Lloyd Banks

Rather it’s fair or not, it you and me

And it ain’t nothing between us but air and opportunity, this is that

My own cousin say I talk about killing too much

He talk about me talking 'bout killing too much

What the fuck I’m supposed to talk about, world peace?

Nigga please, go somewhere and kiss your girl feet

And while you’re sitting down peeing, play some R&B

I’ma be making the murder movies, staring me

This shit here ain’t for fakes, if you ain’t laid a nigga down

That’s bound to be the reason why you can’t relate

Y’all niggas can do the hoe shit

While you makin songs fo my chick, I’m somewhere fuckin yo bitch

Somewhere over the bridge ordering squid

I’d rather call it calamari, it rhymes with Ferrari

For rent is 2600 down like an Atari

I’m sorry, on my life, I’m the life of the party

On my mama’s life, I bust before

Realer than any nigga rhyming, fuck the flow, this is that