[Intro]
(Everything Mvjor)
(Iceberg want a bag, b*tch)
[Chorus: Quezz Ruthless & Big Scarr]
Uh, yeah, I'm in LA smoking 'Woods of exotic opps
Flew with the Glock on the plane, don't get mollywhopped
Killers with me, no, we don't need a bodyguard
Mm-mm, nope, no, I poured an eight of the Wock' in exotic pop
Designer don, wear Forces with Gucci socks
He was hating on the low, fu*ked around, got the ni**a dropped
Uh, fu*ked around, got the ni**a dropped
Shots at his head, ain't no need for him to call the doc
Dissing the gang, that's the sh*t got your partner shot
Got the drops from a b*tch, should've knew not to trust a thot
Damn, but you should've knew that
That's type of sh*t that'll get a ho blew back
Call me Scarr Iron, might beat a ho blue-black
Hellcat, it's fat, this b*tch come with some run flats
[Verse: Quezz Ruthless & Big Scarr]
Uh, yeah, snatch your pole off your hip, no, you can't get your gun back
Grim Reaper Gang, fu*k around, get your soul snatched
Youngins, they ready to step like a doormat
Woah, but you should've knew that
I heard he got shot and he ain't get to shoot back
Prepared for the b*tch, yeah, we ready for comeback
Freaky lil' b*tch eat me up like a fruit snack
Uh, yeah, capping on what? Boy, you know you ain't do that
Big Scarr hang out the scat with the Dracs shooting, who next?
We no ID, y'all could tell just like, "Who that?"
Uh, yeah, like, "Who this?"
Spin a opp block, put that on my to-do list
Still'll mask up and go slide, I don't do hits
These ni**as rap capping, my gang really do this
Uh, woah, these ni**as boys, you know that we grew to this
Your b*tch in my phone and she sending me nudity
AR shoot flames, this b*tch came with a cooling kit
Stop claiming the body, you know you ain't do the sh*t
Used to be broke, now I'm stupid rich
Got on my sh*t, I ain't got time for the foolishness
[Chorus: Quezz Ruthless & Big Scarr]
Uh, yeah, I'm in LA smoking 'Woods of exotic opps
Flew with the Glock on the plane, don't get mollywhopped
Killers with me, no, we don't need a bodyguard
Mm-mm, nope, no, I poured an eight of the Wock' in exotic pop
Designer don, wear Forces with Gucci socks
He was hating on the low, fu*ked around, got the ni**a dropped
Uh, fu*ked around, got the ni**a dropped
Shots at his head, ain't no need for him to call the doc
Dissing the gang, that's the sh*t got your partner shot
Got the drops from a b*tch, should've knew not to trust a thot
Damn, but you should've knew that
That's type of sh*t that'll get a ho blew back
Call me Scarr Iron, might beat a ho blue-black
Hellcat, it's fat, this b*tch come with some run flats