On Timing Lyrics

Run up on me man yo ass must be dumb

With a .30 im smoking on runtz like

This weed in the pack imma put em in blunts

He a pack, 12 men imma pull out the gun

And they know how i am with the knocker

He runnin up better block em

With my .30 me and brodie gon pop em

Gun got a bayonet need imma chop em damn

If he really want up with me

Then im really gon up and its up with me

Already know yea my gun gon be stuck with me

Already know keep a .30 no bluffing me damn

Spin his block i be doing it comfortably

Aint no talking yall kids looking up to me

If im in my hood dont be asking whats up with me

Reading my city i rep cuz you under me damn

Tell brodie I'm finna tote on my grip

Bullets fly he don't want none of this

I go kuu with the tec get away from my bitch

I'm a demon from my head to my kicks

And I know they ain't really on shit

I be toting my fire aint talking no drip

And I know they ain't really on shit

And I'm really on timing im really gon hit

If I walk in the spot then im really on timing

He get hit, knocked out, rock climbing

And I write like a poet I'm rhyming

I creep 'round the corner like this is the shining

With my bullets and gun im combining

He got a ring he get popped for his lying

Like a baby I have his ass crying

They dont got no proof in the concrete he dying damn

Run up on me imma always stay matching

I'm really with it like fuck all the chatting

He keep testing im not with the acting

Fuck all the talkin im starting the action

Dont call up my phone you dont like me

Ion politic just dont fight me

Scartan a demon i pass him the shiesty

Run up on me imma do it like Nike, grrah,

It get scary when i put my shit on

Go to his grave thats that shit that i spit on

Opps be talking bout shit that they "still on"

9/25 thats the day we get lit on

It get scary when i put my shit on

Go to his grave thats that shit that i spit on

Opps be talking bout shit that they "still on"

9/25 thats the day we get lit on

If he think he gon slide what he smokin?

I'll hit him I leave his ass broken

Bullets gon throw if I see that he open

Fuck all the talkin im down to go smoke him

And I'm smoking his dead inna pack

Ten toes down tell them I never lack

And I hit him his skull got a crack

He run away when I come to attack like

Run up on me man yo ass must be dumb

With a .30 im smoking on runtz like

This weed in the pack imma put em in blunts

He a pack, 12 men imma pull out the gun

And they know how i am with the knocker

He runnin up better block em

With my .30 me and brodie gon pop em

Gun got a bayonet need imma chop em damn

If he really want up with me

Then im really gon up and its up with me

Already know yea my gun gon be stuck with me

Already know keep a .30 no bluffing me damn

Spin his block i be doing it comfortably

Aint no talking yall kids looking up to me

If im in my hood dont be asking whats up with me

Reading my city i rep cuz you under me damn

What?

Call up the gang, gang, gang

Shooters the gang, gang, gang

Call up the gang, gang, gang

What?

Bitch

Gang gang gang

Call up the gang, gang, gang

Shooters the gang, gang, gang