WopCLR - TIM TAYLOR

DJ Kryptonite, Puerto Rican Plug

Yeah, all rats, they must die, we chopped his head off
Yeah, all rats they must die, we chopped his head off
Yeah, all rats they must die, we chopped this head off

Codeine in my cup, this ain't no Smirnoff
Fye tucked in my jeans
Mr. sell Clean just like the bald head Nigga

Stayed down with that grind
And now my pockets, they got way more bigger

In my city, ain't nobody more sicker
We finessed em out that dope, I guess we way more slicker
We got these pussy niggas all in they feelings
Every mornin', pray to God, and then I pray to that pistol

Ha, every mornin', I pray to God
and then I pray to that pistol

Every mornin', say my prayers, gotta put one up for them hittas

I been had the juice, but I can't go out like I'm Bishop
Niggas talkin' crazy like we won't ' pull up handle business
30s on them 40s, all them sticks came with extensions

I'm the tool man, but I ain't pull up with no wrenches
CLR boss, I might just pull up with my henchmen

Finger fuck that chopper like I finger fuck these bitches
All my sticks say , they like it's physique
It just want some bigger titties

Double barrel, double drums, and now that bitch
hold more than 60

We gon' post up at the spot all day and get it
All my niggas, we just' living

In my city, ain't nobody more sicker
We finessed em out that dope, I guess we way more slicker

We got these pussy niggas all in they feelings

Every mornin', pray to God, and then I pray to that pistol

Written by:
Wop CLR

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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