Chubby Jag - Bang Bang lyrics

[Hook: Ma**pike Miles] I put the "b" in "banger" Used to getting money Now you know I'm no stranger to the hustle I'm strapped up like a raider from the tomb Force with my platoon I do sh** you boys don't do I'm known in the streets as a n***a that done did it Put infrared beams on your fitted Trust me, you can get it n***a, you can get it Throw the handle back and watch the motherf**er bang, bang, bang [Verse 1: Ca**idy] Yes If I'm not the best, n***a, then I got next Cause I talk that sh** like a n***a with hot breath You n***as not threats, them things'll bang in Things could change if you never got shot yet I'm quick to bust, like a man that never got s** But you don't get the message, like a blind man that got text I used to love to box, until I shot Tecs Now I never brawl, like a broad that ain't got breasts I'm not press, I don't wanna talk Man, my motherf**ing gun'll spark and make a n***a somersault I'll shoot the damn thing and make a n***a handspring Or I'll spark steel and make a n***a cartwheel Matter of fact, clap the gat, turn him to an acrobat Have the cat flip around before I put the pistol down Your lame mouth which you better keep my name out I ain't in a gang, I don't bang, I just banged out [Hook] [Verse 2: Styles P] I'm back out riding Gun at your head, bullet the center like Bonham Shotgun with the shotgun seat reclining I pop up on n***as Let it off, close shop up on n***as Infection, stay in the cut on n***as I'm in a whole nother section I could look in the mirror, my reflection Moves like Inception Extraordinary gentleman, what more could I say? Got the picture in the cut, like Dorian Gray I'm a shooter like Allan Quartermain, I give you more than pain First page in the hard n***a Hall of Fame Duane Darock on the beat SP the Ghost, I make it pop on the streets Probably in the spot for a week One eye open, with the Glock on a sleeve [Hook] [Verse 3: Chubby Jag] I let the thing blam, they call me the Rain Man I'm out of bullets, get 'em hung, n***a, Hang Man You get me, hang it up; there's problems, I flame it up Bang it up, snap back, long t, banger tucked Yup, my block pitching, yeah I got pigeons I'm into cooking, I f** with b**hes that got kitchens If I can't find Jordan, then I'll rob Pippen I leave 'em bloody and skin red, like Rob Griffin Home real spit, the shotty blast, you gon' see the body bags Men in black, no Will Smith Real sh**, used to grind and we still grind Beefing with the grill time, full metal, steel time n***as getting stole on trying to steal mine co*k pack, peel mine Tape 'em up, real time Jump you, the mask on and Berettas bang Sound clear, holmes? Out here, we gonna let it bang [Hook]