Yo Pierre, you wanna come out here?
We been out here
Gangsta, Gangsta Gri-zillz!
6 shit
Quality street music! (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Never ’bout a bitch, it’s ’bout a check, my nigga
Never ’bout the bitch, about to check my nigga, that’s my nigga!
Make me do construction in your section, nigga
Rari’ doin’ donuts, that’s my breakfast, nigga
Okay, you got soldiers, I got veterans, nigga
And I got that white like One Direction nigga, Kesha, nigga
Only God can judge you, I must sentence you to death, my nigga
Yeah, and you are not a topic in my section, nigga
Math teacher taught me how to count my fucking blessings, nigga
Got married to the fucking mob when I met it, nigga
Everybody cried at my motherfucking wedding, nigga
Everybody 5 in my motherfucking section, nigga
Hoodybaby 6, so numbers lying in my sections, nigga
Still got them Bloods, like a vessel nigga, that’s right, nigga
Tell a blind nigga, “Watch your step, my nigga”
Left-right, nigga, whoa, I let my niggas glow
My niggas don’t speak, “Bap, bap, bap”, quote, un-quote
Never had cold feet, stepping out moving snow
Cut the heads off the sheep and sit ’em all around the GOAT
O-M-W, BMW, N-E-W
I got that R-A-W, for the L-O-W
That’s non-refundable, that’s L-A-W
And we hate deductibles, like police hate untouchables
They see me in a car then they F-O-L-L-O-W
I drive S-L-O-W, with that B-L-O-W
I like it very colorful when it come to my jungle juice
I’m out here yelling “Fuck a truce!”
If he gon’ act like Mother Goose, whoa
It’s never ’bout the kids, about the pets, my nigga, no
It’s right between the ears, above the neck, my nigga, whoa
It’s very quiet, when you hear the weapons, nigga, shh
They verify you by your dental records, nigga
6 shit

Fuck the city up, and I got the glizzy tucked (Baow!)
Dick hanging from the mop, look like a billy club
Fliest niggas from the city, bitch, that’s really us (geah!)
You pussies talking, boo! Boo! Boo! Now you really fucked
Ridin’ in the range with Maine, we switch lanes (Maine!)
With my bottom bitch, walked the beach in Biscayne (Rrah!)
Real P shit, that’s that M.O.B. shit
Look at me now, these pussies said I wasn’t gon’ be shit (Ah!)
Yeah, got a homie named Trel from Hoover, he might shoot you
Red rag hangin’ out my right pocket, but I’ll blues you (Doot!)
When them roosters touch down
We make them bitches cock-a-doodle (Woo-woo!)
Take a shot at me over a beat, bitch, I’ma shoot you
Got a bitch named Vicky, she pretty, she keep me stiffy
Glock .40 in her purse, don’t tempt me, her finger itchy (Ayy)
She ride so I keep her with me, she shy, but not with that glizzy
She high from hittin’ the blizzy, eyes red like Trippie (Trippie!)
Hoody rollin’ up, that boy smoke like a hippie (Hippie!)
Fill my double cup up with mud, that’s right, I’m sipping
Yeah, retarded with it, I just might be the hardest with it
And you a rat, you be politickin’ with the Sarge, Lieutenant
Fuck all you bitches! Gudda!

Six shit
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah