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Dog sh*t Militia
by
BabyTron
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Lyrics
Getta Beats Huh, aye, what up, Getta? Like, damn, I can't get a beat, man? Aye Huh, aye, look me in my, yeah, huh, aye Look me in my, yeah, huh, aye Huh, aye, yeah Look me in my eyes, huh, yeah Look me in my eyes, oh, you can't, buffs limousine Scam season, I done came Tech, f**k a skinny jean I wish she she would reach for my chain, feel like Timmy T Like, I wish she would, b*t*h, I'm Timmy Turner If I'm anywhere without my gang then I'm with a burner Yo b*t*h give me small fry vibes 'cause she with a burger And tell my old b*t*h, "Like some pics when you finish lurking" Yeah, check the Apple Watch, ain't no time for hoes Like we OT with the strip, got all kind of poles Gang caught his ass off-guard, ain't have time to pose Bro rolling three hoes with him like he tryna bow Big into, okay, yeah Big into jacks, you can call me "Tronny Appleseed" Tryna run off? I'ma point the shotty at yo feet I'm a real rapper, you ain't have hibachi at the beach Three five hundred dollars, y'all gon' probably match a G Mad cool grip, big scope, and attach the beam I eat ramen all week just to stack some cheese Mad as f**k this b*t*h ain't let me f**k like I ain't actually me Like I ain't actually him Why would you start a war with us like you'd actually win? f**ked her off some bundles and I got them off of smacking BINs Slam dunk, I'ma bend her over and attack her rim Aye, huh Amiri, huh, yeah, huh Aye, Amiri snake print, Christian Loubs, I'm a flashy f**k Playing with her heart and in her throat, I ain't actually cuff Chop loud as hell, might f**k around and attach a muffle Big pape, bop sticks, we the Dog sh*t Militia If we catch him out, f**k around and all pistol whip him Reaching for the test tube, huh, dawg tripping tripping Bro got .45, when you catch dawg, send a message Huh, I'm probably in ATL Trackhawking Wouldn't try nobody in my gang, they like to stack coffins Apple brick 256, b*t*h, I'm jack talking Catch a burger, I might f**k around Big Mac sauce him Wake up, catch him everyday, I'm a jackholic Unc' got two phones, the one with minutes he gon' slap off it I was back frauding but I need to chill, I'm back off it Fake ID from Colorado, b*t*h, I'm Pat Dawkins Hundred round drum and my hitman ain't scared to blow him Put ninety-nine on his top like an Arizona Roll won't fit in the 'Miris, this b*t*h barely folding Two chains straight from Hutchy Hutch, ain't go to Gary [?] Yeah, I ain't gonna lie, Getta did his thing 30K play if you catch me stepping in the bank All that fighting dead, you gon' have to wrestle with the K Hard body, at this point I don't think I bend or break
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