BroGod Steph and SeanG - Big Iron

(The new Uzi machine pistol, big fire power in s small package)
(This little baby uses nine millimeter Hollow-points)
(Twenty, twenty-five round extendable mags, rear flip adjustable sights, the silencer Comes standard)
(Excellent recoil reduction!)
(Muzzle jump forty percent/sixty percent and proof noise suppression)
(You could pump in a mag into me right now!)

B-B-B-B-Big stepper
Make room 'cuz I'm tall bitch
Texas Walker Ranger with the big iron on his hip (Aye, Aye, Aye)
Niggas trying to get that fire
Guess they heard we keep them Bics (Bah)
I heard that that bitch, her head is fire
Cool me down wit' spits
Okay, I can't stress about some niggas who would try to switch (Nah, Nah)
The same niggas couldn't make a layup
Claim they shooting shit (Wah)
Rolling up a pack of block work
That's why they mad as shit
Can't afford the light up so these bitches trying to suck dick
Claiming that they independent
They dependent on a hit (Crack rock)
If this was the 80's, they would fuck around and take a hit (Shit)
Killing hella babies but they throat, it should be pregnant (Mm)
I been feeling lazy
I should stop wit' the grabba spliffs (Yeah)
Oh my god
A nigga high as shit (Aye)
In the kitchen, water whipping
Trying to multiply the digits (Aye, Aye, Aye)
When she riding on the dick
She steady spinning like them fidgets (Woo)
Shorty really bad as fuck
Ain't got no manners when I'm in it (Nah)
I be stepping in that mother fucker like we in the trenches (Aye)
Let me beat it like we playing GTA (Aye, Aye)
We on a mission
She gon' come and put it on me like she dressing me for dinner (Damn)
Imma hold them legs back
She gon' fucking bust it open (Bust it open, ah)
If your shorty moving funny, shorty probably into something (Damn)
Shorty posting on her story
You ain't even see her story
Close friends how she moving
Damn you ain't even know it (Uh-huh)
Heard her pussy like the book
So many niggas claim they poets
Ah
(Niggas claim they poets, pussy like the book so many niggas claim they poets)
(Pussy like the book, so many claim they poets)
(Yeah they claiming that they...)
(Hol' on, hol' on, God damn... damn)

(Yeesh! Like)
(It's like every time niggas get together on a track the shit turns to gold)
(Got the Midas touch)
Oh my God
Let me roll another spliff
Always keep it fresh
My name should be mint
And your bitch named pubic
She on my dick
I would drop her but she bad like a fucking habit
Big stepper
Unexpected, but these timbs is a ten
When I speak I say shit once
No I don't say that shit again
Shawty trying to give me cabbage
'Cuz she heard I'm getting bread
Shawty knows I ball like a frame and a lens
Your bitch wanna cuff
But that ain't right, her name Miranda
Tryna jack son I'll do her dirty like Diana
Always on the go 'cuz I make moves like I'm a dancer
I done been around the world so much I think my name is Santa (Ho, Ho, Ho)
Life could be a bitch
Depends how wet you make her
Got a list full of problems and I'll tend to em later
Right now I'm making moves
I'm getting bread like I'm a waiter
Think you funny like you Tyler
Send you straight to your creator (Yeesh)
I'm already popping
I ain't never need a pill
Used to sing that funeral 'til I buried my feels
Now the only things I know that's real
Are my brothers, and my daughter and the presidents on bills, bitch

Written by:
Sean Bailey, Stephon Greaux

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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