Rusty Revolvers

Lyrics
If you don't fuck with me, then don't fuck with me man yeah Muerte nigga, dead that Come on, yo, yeah, shit I'm a margin shotter, 2Pac product Razor Riddick Rusty revolvers partner Don of the State, honor the greats I'll do your career, broke records in a crate Check me on the interstate in the Great Lakes Catch you with a knife or a line or a tape Superhero no cape Escape with more cake Gloves on both hands that fit like OJ Still you must acquit yards full of dusty pits Chicken fights, bitches, saggy tits - worn out Torn out the frame like your ex's picture Freshest mixture When I speak I collect the riches The kid's so gifted, it's 3 hundred 65 Christmas Jones-towns liquids when listening Slave to a plea deal shout out to prison When it rained I thought it was God throwing up liquor Heart turned cold heard the block whisper This year you going to be that nigga, nigga Thanks already know that Blowback weed like a smokestack Bird flu of rap still wolf pack Straight out the bush Walt White dough stack Chop Shop no cars A pro at SARS bars Czar cigars silky Cloud superstars Nigguh!
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Credits
- Writers
- Bronze Nazareth