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Lil Mouse
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Computer (Freestyle)
Posted on the nine with some savages Everybody scared of us cause we be clapping shit Keep some killers with me ain't with that lacking shit Call my brother Grupy he shoot like the Mavericks bitch Hit the car my shooter down he on some savage shit Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com He on some run up in your house and kill your granny shit I could turn a good girl into a block-bitch And have her runnin' round holding on my Glock bitch [?] Dooka chase a nigga down with them hallow tips Me and Ball in that foreign hit your block bitch Got a hundred rounds if you on that op shit Don't ride down my block without your lights on Shotta toting on the block, all night long I fuck on these bitches with my crew I see an op I hit that moochie when I shoot I love flexing pull up in that drop-top coupe I love designer fifteen hundred for my shoes Call Milly for a hit bet he gone shoot Deezy ridin' through your hood in that Benz coupe Me and Jigga on the nine with the nine Call up my shooters if you tryin' than you dyin' I'm in every nigga's hood with my gang They on dummy if you woofin' you get changed They ain't shoot for legs they aiming for brains Free my nigga Nookie, used to keep that thing Call my cousin Skee he say he in the trap Fosey keep that burner run up you get clapped We 'bout a hundred deep everybody in black Fifty's in the front and fifty's in the back They throwing bullets so I call 'em quarterbacks The ops they running-backs when they running back Roll up with that forty make him have a heart attack It make him jump up and down no jumping jacks Everybody ridin' round with a mac Talking tough Ray put a hundred to his chest Ain't gotta tell my shooters twice, boy they gone blow Ski mask though so they really don't know That Glock on twenty four Pull up smoke an op and then go pour a four I got shooters all the way, on the low I got killers and you know they trained to blow Bodies dropping police come bu they don't know And if you acting like a stain than you get poked Low and loading up that glizzy, smoking dope In a foreign ridin' deep, with my crew I paid a lot for my Balmains, I don't wear Trues My gun hold a thirty some hold thirty-two I just pulled out the lot, they cut the roof Paid a lot for my foreign it's bullet-proof Nigga's say I will fall off but it ain't true My team they go crazy for me they gone shoot It's a lot of sneak dissers in your crew Don't wanna see my shooters spark don't make 'em shoot
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