Waka Flocka Flame - 3:30 (Firesquad Remix) lyrics

Verse 1: n***as acting like they kings 'Til I walk up on their throne Take a piss against the ring Though it hurts no it stings Red alert on the bing Flocka Home! The kid misdirected and the cops are wrong Man they rattin' on each other Then they back at home Actin like it never happened Back stabbin' woah What's next? Another rapper dead? No flex, I'm going at your head Who the best? Cut your neck Closed mouths never get fed Take the food off your plate Chew it in your face I can't hear your sh** Moment of silence Condoning the violence if you proposing an uprising They fan base mad I k**ed their favorite rapper I'm still your favorite trapper's favorite trapper f** freestyles k** them with the written rhymes And all you coke head rappers better get in line No subliminals I'm the rag, getting off Your clique is soft Let your b**h kick it with a boss We're two people from the bottom Just in different lanes Cole I feel your pain Feel like I was born again This is the tiger and the lion This is David and Goliath This is Koran and Bible This the pistol and the rifle In the cypher I ignite you Its a cold f**ing world And I'm sneezing bricks And we got great tickets on my season sh** Lay them chickens down and we season it Repress it and send it That's an easy flip Crush my enemies b**hes envy me Now its business entities It was meant to be Squad life 'til they sentence me to centuries Can't get to me I handle sh** differently We never had sh**, wonder why we lootin' And he 'ain't got a pistol, why the f** he shootin'? I think the d** pollutin' should have stayed a student But then I wouldn't be on stage handing out the blueprint Holla at the movement I'm about to lose it But I do lay it down and there's no f**in' movement They be like Flock what the f**'s up with him Nothin' new just low key rappers don't want to see me win Fifty thousand for a verse I don't need a friend And I don't really like your music, why need to pretend? And how you gang banging after you famous? Half of you brainless You rappers are aimless You rappers are an*s I'm clapping the stainless This accurate aiming is dropping names and It's a new world order Made a dollar out of quarters Made dollars off of quarters Now these shows across the borders And they slaughtering our daughters And they k**ing all our sons It 'ain't just for fun We used to put our hands up and box on the block Now you put your hands up and get shot by a cop I sat first cla** by Donnie McClurkin He said god got a plan young man keep working