Big Tymers - Let's Go lyrics

[Intro: Baby] It's gravy n***a. Believe it You hot? f** it. Hot as a firecracker (It's gravy too.) I got a mac in this bag (click clock) What you got? Glock. (Look) [Baby] n***a I'mma tell ya straight off the bat I got a mac in this bag with 20 grams of crack And I'mma sit in the back seat of yo' 'Lac Just in case I gotta snap, a firette to the chest If I don't know sh**, I know cars and broads I done ordered plenty hits and watched heads come off And I done saw my n***a get life behind them bars To them dog hoes, n***a, we scream "f** 'em all!" I hustle hard in these city streets I got my block on fire with my HB's Spinnin' Benz in these drop tops double r Cook a brick, flip 'em up, now I got 'em hard And you can find me Right up in them hallways, holdin' and totin' Got the whole motherf**in block loaded and smokin' n***a know one thang: its some uptown sh** If a n***a get it f**ed, then we k**in' a b**h [Hook: Baby & Lil Wayne] n***a I'mma tell ya this, straight off the bat I got a mac in this bag, with 20 grams of crack Well let's go n***a, see we can slide n***a Cuz if you hot, then I'm hot, let's ride n***a Look, I'mma tell you this, straight off the top I got a blunt, and a Glock, and a bag of rocks Let's go n***a, let's slide n***a If you hot, then I'm hot, let's ride n***a [Lil Wayne] Better pay attention now so you don't forget later I run the damn block, I oversee all of the paper Don't make me take ya, play ya I co*k the Glock and spray ya Call it a caper, won't be no as-salama-laka And J, he got the gauges, they co*ked and ready Make me run up in ya places and pop ya daddy Got them bricks rocked and heavy, let it be known I cook it hard and cut 'em in zones and the money be gone Then I hit a blunt to the dome, and ride when night falls Supply the white raw, if there's a problem, knock ya wife off Lock the spot down Respect it young n***a, I'm creepin' over Now cut it with just a little bakin' soda, breakin' boulders I take it out my holster and bakin' soldiers whenever n***a it's whatever, tell ya ma to call the reverend You see me on the block with crack, gats, and weed Rats, plats, and ki's, that's practically me [Hook] [Lil Wayne] See I'm a hustler, cut-throat, put rhymes in mom's muffler You can't even count how many times the 9's bust at ya Some of the, n***as that you run with are, s**as bruh None of ya, won't leave, without some bullets up in ya n***as can't hold me down, wodie wild Cuz all that they can hear is loud screamin' and explosive sounds They show me how to cook that brown and rock that white No school, put that book back down, pick up that knife See that's the real reason I hate to be on tour I'd rather be back on the block with a bird of that pure n***as got it all wrong, thinkin' I'm all song But yall gon' twist it and end up all gone Dog-gone co*ks**ers, you not thuggers I pop dozens of Glocks, cousins, in my struggle So stop frontin', it ain't gon' get ya everywhere I'mma start bustin', and bullets hit ya everywhere [Hook] [Baby talks till end]