Stunna lyrics

[Intro: Sample & Rome Streetz]
This guy's killed before!
It was too easy for him
Yeah
We in this b*tch
Yeah, yeah

[Verse 1: Rome Streetz]
Yeah, b*tch, ain't sh*t changed
Pockets stayin' full of hunnids (Uh-huh)
Keep the steel by the stomach
Diamond grill, I'm a stunna; if she trill, I'ma f*ck her (Yeah)
Thousand pills to the runner
Countin' bills when I wanna, plenty mils I'ma run up
Dressed to kill, I'm a gunner
Slime for real, never rat on my brothers (Nah)
Drop the work in the bubbles
In the Murder Mitt', I'm with Boldy and Double (Uh-huh)
Grand theft auto was lit
Now I'm rollin' legit in that Hellcat with all of the muscles (Skrrt)
Two hunnid on the dashboard
If your song come on, we fast-forward (Y'all n*ggas trash!)
Whoеver let you in the studio should gеt shot, recordin' that trash noise
Leveled up, now my wrist glittery (Bling!)
All of the haters in misery
I skate in a Benz with all the amenities
None of these n*ggas ain't lit as me (Nah)
On the road to riches, got a blick
A brick and your b*tch in the middle seat (What else?)
You ballin', but that sh*t little league; my sh*t lit out in Italy
Started off with a slice
But I always had a plot to get a bigger piece (Uh-huh)
Got my hands on a pie
Lettin' zips fly, I had a trap in the east, gettin' cash
My eyes only recognize dollar signs
I'm addicted to the bag (Money)
Slow down? Nah, b*tch, I'm livin' fast
Blowin' rounds, big blicky in the stash (Bah! Bah!)
[Verse 2: Double Dee & Boldy James]
Yeah, gang, money long as the L train (Cheeewm)
Two tears in a bucket, f*ck it
I'm who taught 'em how to hustle; they was ballin' on a budget
I was servin' all the cluckers
Thirty-pointers in my Buffies (Buffies)
Rollie, cuttin' up in traffic (Yeah)
Boldy bustin' up a Backy, up the strig, I don't trust it (I don't)
Hunnid bands in my luggage
Got the guns and the butter (Uh); little man, did I stutter?
Stuntman in a Hummer, poppin' bands with my brother
One hand wash the other (Uh-uh)
In the trap with the takers; red rag on a thumper
Put a tag on his taper
Rumble Pak on a Drac-y, head-top you with the caker (Drr-r-rt)
Yeah, hoe, clip long as my elbow, stuck to me like Velcro
When the chair roll, got the TEC with the air holes
Leave you stiff as a scarecrow (Yeah)
Pumpin' big blow; now we fronted your distro
Cuban doin' the disco (Yeah)
Money Mitch flow; your b*tch love how my wrist glow
Tricky dance moves, no Sisqo
Never froze or had cold feet; pullin' all-nighters, gettin' no sleep
Play with gang, you know I'm gon' tweak
Shout to Rome Streetz, it's been a long week
Sold a hundred lil' Bo-Peeps, now it's twenty bad b*tches on fleek
Got me kickin' up chickens with no grease (What else?)
[Verse 3: Boldy James]
Yeah, it's true; everything that I say, I do
Really am who I say I'm is (Yeah, uh-huh)
Really play with strigs, Sig Sauers and katydids (Bah)
Growin' up, we was Bebe's Kids
Duckin' ATF (Ay) and the task, the way we live
Catch a strap, they gon' say it's his
I'ma say it's not; if they run in and raid the spot
Pop up on you, this ain't a quiz (Uh-uh)
Jammin' rock like a Jamaican kid
Either break bread, or we gon' break a rib (Cha-ching)
Sippin' syrup out in Mapleridge
Got my p*ss purple when I take a whiz (Pour up)
Pourin' up lean, all the dope that I touch clean
Dropping red thicker than some duck sauce (Straight drop)
n*ggas in the ghetto playin' dirty with the wop
Chasin' all the clucks off
Seven-sixin' in the Drug Zone
Servin' custos, duckin' jumpoffs (Blockworks)
All them b*tches speakin' down on the Jones
Left them b*tches with the yuckmouth (Ugh)
Ducked off in the spig
Off of G-Rear, countin' up a hun' bun (Sk-skrrt)
n*ggas know not to call the Batphone
If it ain't about the mon-ion (Hello?)
Stick up, playin' field hockey
Know these n*ggas wanna killshot me
Spend twenty, get sixty back
Hunnid-fifty racks, that's a real profit
You ain't never did a ninety-ball off the Tylenol
Havin' tunnel vision (Never touched that)
Everything is all paper, all scratch, all skrilla
'Specially when you run with killas
[Outro: Boldy James]
Where we at? Creatures