Club House Killers

Lyrics

[Intro] (Funk or Die) (Mmm, TeoILikeThis) (Heavyweight, nigga) [Verse 1] I'm beefin' with some blockers, man, they gettin' at me sideways I'm lurkin', tryna flip a Sprinter van up on the highway I'm Sub-Zero with this chopper, freeze a nigga like an ice tray Can't nobody call my phone and tell me shit, I do it my way Check my resume, I'm thugged out Stars in the drug house Every time they say it's beef with me, they run the clubhouse Don't let me say it's beef, they hit your street and blow your mug out The way I work this Drac', they'd probably hide me in a nuthouse They speak on me so freely, they don't think I know they police They disrespect, but when I say shit back, them folks get on me I don't do no back and forth, fuck you and your OG I'm the type to play it cool and smoke you on the lowkey These soft-ass niggas picking sides and they don't even know me I told the bros whoever crack your skull can have my Rollie I'm tired of niggas speakin' on my business like they with that Ain't nobody safe, this baby K ain't got no kickback They thought that boy was sick until the clique gave him a shit bag We stepped on your stepper, on 3-0, you know who did that These scary niggas meet some scary niggas, then they clique up If he running, shoot him in his stomach, niggas ain't gon' get up When it's going down, nail him to the ground, he can't sit up Old police-ass nigga talkin' loud, shut that shit up These niggas talk just like a bitch, how you sit down with a snitch? Niggas actin' like they active, gettin' extorted by the Crips On the clique [Verse 2] Yeah, come and prove it You would think I work at FedEx, all these packs that I be moving I said, "Pull up with a crate," 'cause Percs and drank, I be abusing And before I hit the booth, I pour a four Bitch go through my phone like, "Who is this?" Bitch, I don't know Grew up watching auntie hit the dope, she damn near croaked I really love your ho, don't gotta ask, she give me throat And if that lil' bitch broke, can't give me cash, she gotta go I'm done shootin' threes, get to the paint like I'm Vince Carter Stank bitch sellin' pussy, that's a fish market Nigga need to work at Walmart, he always miss targets Lookin' stupid, rollin' down the window like, "This bitch farted" Peanut butter on the bread, I like the crunchy kind In the booth, I pour a deuce, now it's punch-in time Bro rock extended clips, but shit, it's nuts on mine Lakers losing every damn game, I be like, "Fuck LeBron" [Verse 3] Ayy, we get los, if niggas there, we droppin' every shot I'm ridin' 'round with Dracy on me, nigga, fuck the Glock We'll drop you in front the feds, nigga, fuck the cops Before I wrote a rap, I was fiendin', tryna spin a block You ain't got no bodies on that side, them ain't your fuckin' opps Dog got his head tapped, he left without the pop Only time these niggas droppin' somethin' is when they sippin' Wock' A hundred fifty shots inside this lo', it's just me and Wop He survived a headshot, I wish they punched his clock DJ took his whole kit off, where was your fuckin' Glock? Ridin' with a bitch that give me drops, she just blew my socks She a real tweaker, she be cheesin' when she see the opps What's-his-name just gave them niggas drop, I told that nigga yop Fuck them fully switches, when we slide, we hit they blocks with chops They put his picture on TV, he on the 6 o'clock Any nigga fuckin' with Hayes Money, we gon' get 'em dropped