"Blixky Gang Freestyle" lyrics

Ghosty, ghosty, ghosty, ghosty
Grt...
Told my shoota don't hit no legs
Blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky
See I know I (Fuck) keep one up in the head (Twirl)
Do a hit then we fled
Skrt, skrt, skrt, skrt
Blicky, the blicky, the blicky, the blicky
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang

Move bitch, I'm disturbing the peace, got me feeling like Luda (Skoot, skoot)
New drip, (Drip, drip) I'm rocking Amiris, this shit ain't no Buddha
Get hit in the stomach, (Pussy) all of his guts and intestines he threw up (Hahaha)
Got rid of the gun, (Got rid of that shit) I had to re-up on a new one
Henny, no Georgies, spin through the flossy
I'm at the Barclays, and I got floor-seats
Treesha's bye-bye, trynna give orgies
Back out, I ain't trynna end up on Maury (Brt)
Too dripped out (Too dripped out), black wrange when the gang (Gang, gang, gang) flip out
Clips stick out, reload once the shit slip out
Spin 'till we nauseous, bending it often
Cup over coasters, we made 'em forfeit
Pull up no warnings, hop out and scorch 'em
Better be cautious, baited 'em up
Walked 'em straight to a coffin (Walked 'em straight to a coffin)
They ain't taking no shots (Pussy)
They (Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap) ain't scoring
22 the nigga they rap 'bout (Suck my dick)
They ain't the same when the strap out (Gang, gang, gang)
If you ain't know you should check on my background
If he ain't dead then spin back 'round
Met a little treesha and she trynna get slapped out
Ended up blowing her back out
Fuck on the balcony, I made her tap out (Matta, matta) (Brt, brt)
(Gang, gang, gang)
When we spin, duck
Keep that blick tucked
If he trip up, (What?) he won't get up
Rest in piss to that boy who got hit with a hollow now he in gelato (Now he in gelato) (Gang, gang)
It's still free the twirlers, I'm screamin' free Kodak, I'm screamin' free Ralo (Twirl, twirl)
Feel like Tony Montano
I shoot you get left, Euro steppin' like Manu
With a Treesha in Milano, she drivin' the boat
She downin' Moscato
Clappin' like standing ovation (Pussy)
Brodie gon' chase him, I don't do chasin'
Count hella guap, got paper (Racks, racks)
Shit it get dangerous, we don't feel danger
(Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap) Shooters gon' flock out the wrangler (Grt)
(Suck my dick)
(Gang, gang, gang)