hounds

I keep that Glock up on my waist and watch the bodies hit the ground

Your a bitch a fan and she be begging Let me in the compound

Test your limits swear to God little boy your body won't be found

Keep that Glock up on my waist and feed your body to the hounds

It go one two three four

Fell in love with violence, and I'm knocking at your door

It go one two three four

All the bodies dropping and you have nowhere to go

No I don't wanna talk

And I don't wanna dance

You catch me hopping out the whip you get to running man