Correction Lyrics Dog $hit Militia Cypher #1 by BabyTron

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Lyrics

Helluva made this beat, baby
Whew

On an opp hunt, ridin' 'round with them hell raisers
Twenty shotguns, I'm slidin' 'round with twelve gauges
Za' connoisseur, bust it open and I smell flavor
He spend it when he get it, I can tell he never felt paper

My young n***as out they top, they be out here wild
I be thinkin' bout the opps, like when is they gon' slide?
Give that boy a face shot, that n***a almost died
Pour a six, pop a Perc'-10, that make me comе alive
You let your b*t*h set thе play, then she dyin' with you
Two-three set this money on the floor, I'm like I'm slidin' with you
Only ARP's in this whip, it ain't no .9 pistols
He actin' hard 'cause he got that gun, he like Brian Nichols

Might hit LA broke as f**k, leave with nine giffy's
My n***a Tron iced up, look like—
B*t*h I'm only pourin' Wock' or Tris, you be dyin' sippin'
N***as really broke as f**k, why I don't mind n***as
Bang on all on a n***a block, they think LeBron did it
Your b*t*h tryna take my Ksubi's off 'cause Travis Scott did it
Me, I'm pourin' up purple syrup, you be pine sippin'
First it was Balmain, now it's Number (N)ine denim
You ain't talkin' 'bout no pape', I can't pay attention
Gotta thank my brother 'cause the coin damn near made a n***a
Fit wet, think I'm sweet? I'll face a n***a
These Margiela's on my feet just to paint a picutre
We be ballin' in the summer, grindin' in the winter
They make these on your neck? That sh*t look like glitter
Exotic a** Runtz in the 'Wood and you rollin' Swishers
This b*t*h kinda irritatin', finna hit her sister

Knockin' like the police, we gon' stick all on the pizza man
I'll pull up with that chop and chop you like I'm Jackie Chan
Lil' b*t*h got that WAP, it's like her pu**y should've came with sand
Dropped a hundred on his block and it was only me and Stan
I'll never need a b*t*h 'cause I'm the one these b*t*hes need
Up early tryna cop the newest drop of Supreme
B*t*h is like, "I know you f**kin' hoes," I'm like, "What you mean?"
Damn, I kinda feel like Luigi, always got some green

Twenty-pointers in the buffs, b*t*h, my view icy
Balaclavas back-to-back-to-back, b*t*h, we too shiesty
Know that sh*t designed by Virgil if I do Nike
And baby, I get money, I don't give a f**k 'bout who like me
Wardrobe full of foreign sh*t, everything designer
Everybody with me Glocked up, I don't hang with fighters
Jack his a** with iron, I ain't changin' tires
Purple, yellow, and some red sh*t, unc' the drink supplier
When I hit the road, I pray to God that I make it back
All that gossip and that fake sh*t, we ain't into that
Caught him in the field, we finna blitz and take his sack
Hit him in his head and take his life 'cause all he do is cap
Call my hitters up, then go, they ain't tired of steppin'
Put a switch up on the Beretta, boy, this a lethal weapon
Get close to this chop, you gon' get to shell-catchin'
Slidin' on this block, you gon' die, that's a failed lesson

201, 101, this a Z01
In the slums iced out, sh*t, can't forget my gun
In the spaceship pushin' b***ons, she like, "Where you from?"
Money stacked to the ceilin', this sh*t finna weigh a ton
Black Hellkitty-kat, now I'm outta luck
Darkest room, diamonds dancin', VVS's light 'em up
Matchin' Dior shoes with the belt, this designer love
Flash on the Glock froze him up, this the light of love

Smokin' Gary Payton, hit his b*t*h with a glove on
I just poured a four two times and got my dub on
Glock 23, Michael Jordan, got my shrug on
Finna let the chop sing, but it ain't a love song
Saw a opp and hit the big shot like I'm Chauncey
Ben Frank's, all my friends dead like a zombie
Money on the floor, I'm on time like Ashanti
Fourth Sh*ttyBoy, I'm MIA, they tryna find me
Dog Sh*t Militia walk in, it's a motion picture
I got rich friends, I'm allergic to these broke n***as
Hurry up and pa** me the 'Wood, I'm finna smoke this n***a
FIshtailin' in the Hellcat, almost broke the engine
And I'm still posted in the hood like a transmission
Get off your a** and stop doing all that damn b*t*hing
Work so fire, almost burnt down the damn kitchen
All this damn money in the room got my hands itching

A hundred people lined up at the spot, look like a Chick-Fil-A
Me and gangy dropped a three of Quagy, sip a script a day
Skating in the Kitty, cut the traction, hit the figure eight (Skrrt)
Two hundred giffies on me, flyin' up the interstate (Ooh-wee)
Smokin' opps out the 'bow, I'm like, "F**k a QP"
Sh*t, fire 'em up
Light 'em up, I'm sick he Reggie, I ain't high enough
Said you f**kin' with us, let me guess, you seen a flyin' bus?
Smokin' on the whitest Runtz in the whitest buffs
Trippin' over b*t*hes in them biscuits? Need to tie 'em up

Sh*ttyBoyz, Dog Sh*t Militia
We just burnt the studio down, come call the fire truck

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