Death Is Callin

(album: Occupational Hazard - 2020)

Big dawg, my circumference is full of those
I'm uncomfortable 'round these hoes 'cause I know they gave 'em the drop
My dawg facing murder, they think I gave him the chop
Paid attorney service, they think I gave him the guap
I'm a fella, baby
And we confirmed the allegations, niggas telling, baby
It ain't a time the suckers died and we ain't celebrated
We'll have 'em section off your section like it's segregated
Ayy, heavy doses when indulging in the medication, medicated
Ayy, how it's millions in his bank and he uneducated?
You better not pull up to mi casa without no reservation
Blind niggas lead the blind without no destination
I press ignore and I ain't answer, I think death was calling
And then I got a text from brother like the check was calling
We hecksa balling, nigga hecksa hella extra balling
It's HGM until I'm tortured, I'ma rep regardless
Yeah, we gon' step regardless

I press ignore and I ain't answer, I think death was calling
My youngin died eleventh grade, ain't get a chance to ball him
We gon' pop these bottles for him, lift your Rollies up
And never speak his name in vain if you gon' blow it up
I press ignore and I ain't answer, I think death was calling
My youngin died eleventh grade, ain't get a chance to ball him
We gon' pop these bottles for him, lift your Rollies up
And never speak his name in vain if you gon' blow it up

Uh, demonic behavior, it's hard to savor
Switching jerseys in the fourth quarter on us, them niggas traitors
If he don't bet the fader, we gon' strip him for his paper
Ducking off in Vegas with a mansion by the Raiders
The fallen ain't forgotten, I'ma bee you niggas later
Yeah, youngin 'nem forever in my favor
40 with the laser, HGM leather blazer
Multi-million dollar neighbors, throw the sixes on the scraper (Ah)
Miss me with the hating, I got guala on the menu
Niggas holler 4th, but I'm for surely that ain't in you
Ayy, call me for the kill 'cause that's the type of shit I'm into
You ain't cook nobody when you caught him, you was fing to
Fella in my trenches, niggas treat me like the Big U, on God
We ain't driving by, we finna skid through
You just see the shine and don't acknowledge what we been through
I tell 'em all the time, "Your time coming if it's meant to," on God

I press ignore and I ain't answer, I think death was calling
My youngin died eleventh grade, ain't get a chance to ball him
We gon' pop these bottles for him, lift your Rollies up
And never speak his name in vain if you gon' blow it up
I press ignore and I ain't answer, I think death was calling
My youngin died eleventh grade, ain't get a chance to ball him
We gon' pop these bottles for him, lift your Rollies up
And never speak his name in vain if you gon' blow it up

(This is Jay P Bangz)