"Gang Pop" lyrics

The only thing on the mind of a shark
Is to eat

New turban
Doing shiesty, snipe him off the bike
Brown skin, in her birkin feisty, icy brightly
She cling cocky with her tongue and make it mighty tighty
Micro, draco tiny but it's spiking lightning
We been merking shit since sidekicks turn they hats to visors
Cuzzo move like he Al Qaeda, shake the ground in Rikers
She ride dick just like a soldier, know she wasn't frightened
Touch her toes, I bend her over, fuck up her alignment
Skin it out bae, balance pilin', can you Dutty Wine it
I make fireworks and rockets burst in your vagina
It's pitch black, bae, help me guide it once I get inside it
The Benz coupe insane, send that shit to Shutter Island

Yeah, I leave the telly smelly, I do Xans in the pit
And your mans getting glizzied, put this hand on the glick
She handstand on the cock
Bape camo Glock
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

Woulda thought you came from China with this tighty wetty
Tryna approach the bitch polite, the Mary pockets heavy
Someone got hit
Glocky .20, that was not the semi
Headshot
Mommy's hot spaghetti
My bitch bad like Mary Poppins 'cause she popping Chevys
Party jumping, I look at her, it look like she ready
Drive her home in that Tarantula and get the necky
Bam blocks, with some immigrants, the Natty Dreadys
Thumb first, I be wildin' with the Glock posse
Rifles, next to bibles, I know God got me
Psycho, if he black out then he split noggins
Put the tracker on your Trackhawk front your crib, dot 'em

Yeah, I leave the telly smelly, I do Xans in the pit
And your mans getting glizzied, put this hand on the glick
She handstand on the cock
Bape camo Glock
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

Gang inside the VIP, so you front, you get smoked (I'm with them though)
Trappin' in the trench, .30 drums and bubble coats (Drums and bubble coats)
Keep some fire shit
She do Chanel, your hoe do Coach
Bitch, I made you flee, you don't know shit 'bout Rick Owens (Ain't know shit 'bout Ricky Owens)
VVS like Creed, young boy still play with bitcoins
I'm in Hollywood, no Uncle Phil, just big dope (Bitch)
Roll my spliff deluxe while all the villains stick tote
Cuzzo in the cut, you play with him it's big smoke (Big smoke)

Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

(Nah, not like that, thats fake though)
If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks
Draco under my armpit
(Pull the driver down, might got to kill the driver)
Yeah
(Nah, not like that, thats fake though)
If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks
Draco under my armpit
(Pull the driver down, might got to kill the driver)
Yeah