New Suppressor

(album: Before My Time Up - 2020)

I need to talk to Mike Laury
Hello? This is Mike Laury (Mm-mm)
Dubba-AA flex (Mm)
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Only in my chopper I trust (Grrat)
Yeah (Winning lottery numbers coming up)

I feel like Rondo with this nine on my waist
I ain't talking basketball
We bring straight gun smoke in that state
Walked around the corner, I bang and blast 'em all
When we slanging iron, run blood down on that ghetto
Like, "Boom, boom, bop," bitch, this that casket talk
Lil' bit down the alley, we shake and jump out
Nobody safe, don't come out after dark
She say she like the way this Patek spark, ayy
She like the way that I'm shining, yeah
Open my mouth and I'm blinding them
We really slanging nine with them
We pressing on the Glock, ayy, ayy
When Nicky get out, I'ma buy him a pistol
Beam right off the scope of a big 9mil'
Pockets burn with the cash, I shoot at every hitta, who shot 'em? Know that, ayy
Tell me who want smoke inside this party, who'll blow the K?
I just gave my younging thirty thousand, where the .38?
Glock with the drum, we steady mobbing and tryna boost the murder rate
We look for something inside the projects, we step like fuck him, it's a murder case

Glock with a beam, we go up with the metal
Killing run in my genes, see, my uncle a steppa
I be rocking Supreme with the Burberry letters
My lil cousin's thirteen but in love with Berettas
Ayy, I'm tryna figure out how can I catch him
Take 'em out by his house, when he come out, we wet 'em
Couple Ps in the trunk, we put thousand or better
They know that we put that heat on whoever
Leave some blood on the street, then we thrown down the leather
Tell 'em turn on the beat then I dance with the devil
Ain't no internet beef so y'all better be careful
Put that boy on a T-shirt, we dead 'em like rappers
Get the lock off the [?], then I step on the pedal
From the East to the West, slanging nine in the ghetto
Got a foot on they neck 'til they break, I won't let up
Only reason they hate 'cause I run up my cheddar
Stick to the code, don't trust a bitch who get set up
Thinking my codeine and my Crip, cuz' screaming out, "It's whatever" (Yeah, yeah)
Designer clothes, [?], was back to Fran Wesser (Oh yeah)
Dig up and go who not beneath me with a brick and a shovel, yeah

I feel like Rondo with this nine on my waist
I ain't talking basketball
We bring straight gun smoke in that state
Walked around the corner, I bang and blast 'em all
When we slanging iron, run blood down on that ghetto
Like, "Boom, boom, bop," bitch, this that casket talk
Lil' bit down the alley, we shake and jump out
Nobody safe, don't come out after dark
She say she like the way this Patek spark, ayy
She like the way that I'm shining, yeah
Open my mouth and I'm blinding them
We really slanging nine with them
We pressing on the Glock, ayy, ayy
When Nicky get out, I'ma buy him a pistol
Beam right off the scope of a big 9mil'
Pockets burn with the cash, I shoot at every hitta, who shot 'em? Know that, ayy
Tell me who want smoke inside this party, who'll blow the K?
I just gave my younging thirty thousand, where the .38?
Glock with the drum, we steady mobbing and tryna boost the murder rate
We look for something inside the projects, we step like fuck him, it's a murder case