Gangster Relief - Stomper, Chino Grande, Lil Minor

Every bitch I came across over 30 and shit

But I’m sure they came across the dirtiest dick

I got bitches in New York ready to jump my bones

These bitch boys never think I’m gonna catch em though

A new hyna so fine, with a ass so fly

I got a box full of shells and I’m still outside

I will bail with a drill and leave you drenched in blood

A ski-mask in all black with some matching gloves

I’m just a south east legend, from the dub one three

Matter of fact baby boy I’m just a certified G

With hot shells that I bring

Guaranteed to leave a sting

I’ll rip the flesh off your face

With an AR-15 like

Caus when this shit just crack

These hos gon blame me

Around here we don’t correspond too lightly

Matter of fact I heard these muthafucking feds indicting like uh

Oh ahh I’m fucking with the light

Take a puff hold it in

Bucking Glocks at a cop

We be setting up shop

On them neighborhood street corners

My con funk technician slash dope boy stage performer

Ain’t no need to fake the funk

Homie you don’t wanna

I’ll catch ya slipping when you least expect it

You’s a goner

Bagging fat sacks of glass and I weigh it out

I’m catching, got em hooked like a rainbow trout

About clocking paper even on a rainy day

Get it while you can, homie we bound to die anyway

Sign my soul on the dotted line

If I ain’t clocking royalties

I gotta blast for mine

With a mini snort teen and a plastic nine

Extra clips in my pocket cause I smash when I’m on the grind

And you could bet when I rep and I gain respect

I got that one hitter quitter homie

P Town connect

Well it’s like once upon a time, in the land of the sick

I was a crazy little homie, always starting some shit

Representing the click, no time for playing no games

I hung with killers, drug dealers

No love for cowards and lames

Born to bang, my only mission was to make me a name

Catch me a punk rat vieja, homie blow out his brains

Back in the days, my crazy ways they got me locked in a cage

Shit I was burning in flames, living my life in a rage

Front page I seen my face, now I’m wanted for murder

On the run murder one, you know I’m packing my burner

By the time I was 16, I had them infrared beams

Smoking blunts and busting leans

Slanging dope to them fiends

I had the bitches sucking dick, and breaking bread with a playa

Watching my back for fucking rats

And packing straps for the haters

South east with the streets, that created a king

Born to be one of the realest, out the Sur one three