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Ding Dong
par
Quin NFN
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Letra
(Ay, hold on, hold on, gang) (Ay, ay, ay, ay) (What the f**k goin' on n***a) (Run that back Khi) (Gang, ay) Beam on the Glock, I play tag when I get 'em Smoking on Runts got me laughing, I'm ticklin' My youngins gon' dumb, they gon' crash when I send 'em I'ma tack a few gnats, have 'em back when I hit 'em He don't want beef, but you say he a hitta Not enough dope, so we gotta remix 'em We shoot some shots, and smashed off in the Sprinter He run "too fast", but these bullets gon' get him Ding dong, we ring his block means we hate him Ching chong, she sling the cat like like I ate it Ring tone, full of that dope cause I made it Ping pong, she eat the balls when I spank it Peephole gon' shoot, n***as knowing that's facts And I ain't got a wife, with a cake in my back Hit the corner with bro, look like Kobe and Shaq Lotta cheese like Velveeta, to go with these MACs I got a shoota, he only attack I hit 'em once, and they never come back n***as get mad when they stuck in the back He was just trappin', until he got jacked Where I come from n***a, you never lack I sent the Russians to get me a sack These bullets miss 'em, we gotta spin back b*t*h we gon' slide with you, know that's a fact Made me a mil', so I ride with that tool These n***as cap, but ain't graduate school That keef be on fire, make him jump in his pool And I just slide slide for them racks, 50k just don't shoot Choppa 16, but he still make the news Bro a mechanic, he stay with the tool You moving too slow, how you looking confused Try one too hard, you gon' f**k round and lose I've been leaning all night, and I just poured a deuce And my shootas gon' shoot, when he hang out the roof Beat up a pack, b*t*h I'm trap money Bruce Talkin' bout robbing me, must be a fool Ay b*t*h I slide for my n***a He got more shots than some liquor Hop out you an op for some dealer Candy paint Sprinter, gang know I'm hot in the winter Lotta rocks, make a young n***a shiver Make 'em pop like Tigga, whole lotta shots we deliver Play around, and get popped for that skrilla She white not vanilla My Glock got a d**k, like my gender He play, we gon' give him his issue (gang) Ay, these n***as really ain't thuggin' I see your face, no I ain't sayin' nothing We can't find him, so we went for his cousin He is not wit it, I know that he bluffing They know I'm hot, like I came out the oven He thought it was what it was, but it wasn't I can't tote pistols, with less than a dozen (Ay, b*t*h) (Real, Trap, sh*t) (That's it)
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