WTA Lyrics

My gun in the back with a drum

I let the .30 pop if he gon run

With a .30 i shoot at his lung

Fuck that

With a .30 i shoot at his tounge

With a perkey yeah they thought i was drunk

Now this shit spinning around thats tough

Nah lemme get my blunt

Brodie ask, he get him a puff

She like who? fuck that, fuck love

Ion trip no bitch god damn

Beretta got kick so i shoot two hands

When i got my glock... fuck brodie my shit jammed

Im just playin my glock finna spray no pam

Hit him in the head no pan

That .30 gon hit and you feel that slam

That bitch in track by the way that he ran

Them bullets gon spin when it hit no fan

Bitches dont know where im from and they thinkin they tough

No alarm where im from we just hearing some guns

We knew it was 6 when we heard us a drum

Brrra heard that sound and we up

Well i dont give a fuck

He tryna play he get shot in his guts

If i see an opp then he dead in the cut

Heres to my opps

Stay where you at but just stay with a chop

Im comin to you with the gang and we locked

.30s Berettas and maybe some Chops

Me and the gang finna get us a drop

My gun in the back with a drum

I let the .30 pop if he gon run

With a .30 i shoot at his lung

Fuck that

With a .30 i shoot at his tounge

With a perkey yeah they thought i was drunk

Now this shit spinning around thats tough

Nah lemme get my blunt

Brodie ask, he get him a puff

She like who? fuck that, fuck love

Ion trip no bitch god damn

Beretta got kick so i shoot two hands

When i got my glock... fuck brodie my shit jammed

Im just playin my glock finna spray no pam

Hit him in the head no pan

That .30 gon hit and you feel that slam

That bitch in track by the way that he ran

Them bullets gon spin when it hit no fan

Let this get out

Only got nineteen for this letter right now

So imma keep goin' till the time runnin' out

I keep me a .30 i keep me a glock

If you runnin' up then my clip runnin' out

Ion got no time to beef

If you not about it then dont talk to me

Posted up with the gang

But im still in the streets

Still tough by myself keep a .30 in each

His brain finna bust put him up in the leaves

He was talking now he up in a tree

My gun in the back with a drum

I let the .30 pop if he gon run

With a .30 i shoot at his lung

Fuck that

With a .30 i shoot at his tounge

With a perkey yeah they thought i was drunk

Now this shit spinning around thats tough

Nah lemme get my blunt

Brodie ask, he get him a puff

She like who? fuck that, fuck love

Ion trip no bitch god damn

Beretta got kick so i shoot two hands

When i got my glock... fuck brodie my shit jammed

Im just playin my glock finna spray no pam

Hit him in the head no pan

That .30 gon hit and you feel that slam

That bitch in track by the way that he ran

Them bullets gon spin when it hit no fan