Blunt to My Lip - Ramirez, Fat Nick

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Pull up to your mammy house, I put yo' family straight to sleep

Ridin' with the duster by my side, I’m 'bout to sweep the streets

Tell them hoes the score was murder when I hit their fuckin' town

'Tato tip all on that bitch so that they don’t make no sound

It’s the Grey*59, step inside the Columbine

Where you witness your demise and this throne will still be mine

Grey Gorilla, MAC-9, make your heart flatline

Speaking 'bout my fuckin' clique, buckle up and throw down

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Oh shit, here we go, these Percs and Xans, I’m feelin' low

We skrrt the Porsche, the engine blow, I been too rich, now watch me glow

Draco twitch, now watch me empty out a clip

Shoot, shoot, shoot, bet your luck I’ll hit your shit

VVS my neck, dripped out to my wrist

Where the hunnid, hunnid, hunnid, smoke is in a brick

I got too much on me, that’s why your bitch, she want me

Iced out, all gold, hear the boy froze

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Watchin' for the police 'cause they always tryna catch me, mane

A 2−11 in progress, I’m 'bout to rob this sucka out his shit

Tie him up and tape his mouth, told this bitch, «Don't make no sound»

Throw that busta in the trunk, 'bout to take him hellbound

Out the grave, you can’t kill what’s dead, I like my rum bloody red

My souvenir;

this sucka head, and in the water’s where he dread

Servin' up that hot lead, I like the shotty 'cause it spread

Fuckin' with the Killa, promise by the end, you’ll be dead

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip

Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips