CAN YOU HEAR THE DRUM? ft. TraeThaKilla, Dawson & KingPinSmokey Lyrics

Motherfuckers can't rhyme no more

Killa!

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

If I brush em that's percussion

I don't need no Introduction

Pistol whip it give concussion

Gun is Russian blood is rushing

Hide your bones that's my Conclude

If I kill him then I turn him to a voicemail interlude

Run the prayers in the comments wouldn't do shit if he could

I'm the biggest playa hater

Thinking otherwise get in line

Made a promise I will keep the smith and wesson

bullet new day another lesson

If I pull up great Depression

Let me school y'all class in session

Swear they take my lines and say they don't do larson

But this beat's the single reason that there is for fucking arson

Incarcerate the killers and then lock em with Ben Carson

Middle finger in the air I said fuck tucker Carlson

Tuck the 40 round my waist crouch and tie up my shoe lace

Then I fire 3 shots for the father son and Holy Spirit

In the court I ain't appearing fuck the hearing witness esoteric

Judges look like relics

Burn em like the damn heretics

Ain't that shit just so poetic

Send a letter after me that's so hysteric

Mothafucka!

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

I said can you hear the drum

Can you hear the drum

I can hear the drum that barabadabum

Let me get sum when I roll up with the pump pump

Don't fuck around or get yo ass Stumped

Brangadang like the Based God

I'm unfazed looking odd

Got so many guns like I'm boutta play COD

Semi automatic like a bey blade let it rip

What's a trae song without R-I-P to jits

Shotty steady go and it Tore em up to bits

Family all crying but I couldn't give two shits

Everyone complaining but they staying at the ritz

Bought her new designer if she keep on throwing fits

My last advice don't listen to these pricks

And if they try to talk just whoop em wit the stick

That a snare or a gunshot

Drive by at the bus stop

All these playas mane

They can't seem to go away

Better bring a body bag casue I am here to stay

Comeback down from memphis I be rolling round with Trae

Round crips like Q like YAWK YAWK

Trips to the liquor store thought it was the end

Till I saw a funky motherfucker trespass on my land

Had to pull my heater swing the hammer Derek jeter

Ran to his four door seater

And he bleeding on the leather

Playa haters my Vendetta

Bullets raining better check the weather

Lighter than a feather call me money getter

On the block with 2 berettas

MF STOP RAPPING GET YOUR BARS ON

PET YOU ON YOUR BACK YOUS MY SON

His hoe ass keep stunting

And the bass keep on bumping

Till he hear the hundred rounds mothafucking mag drumming

I ain't got no fear

Set the glock up on repeat

Boutta set a three peat

I ain't blow a 3-1 lead

Yea yea all that trash talking

Just like a dog on a chain still barking

Empty ass threats so my ass keep on walking

Trae tha fucking killa

Can you hear the drum