Mafia lyrics

[Intro]
Damn flando
Ayy run that sh*t up chase

[Verse 1: Peezygang Jojo]
Wait a minute, I been 'round town for a lil minute
Why these lil n*ggas acting hard like that pole lifted
[?] your name been [?]
I did risk my life for the gang, b*tch I'm still trippin'
Wait a minute, free my brother ruger my boy still sitting
He gon' thug it out and do that time, no we don't do snitchin'
She gon' drop her jaws and give it all, b*tch come and pay pimpin’
Thumbin through these 50's look at all these blue's hittin'
It's been 5 years shakin' ass, that b*tch still strippin'
Baby do your dance, get that back handle, your business
I ain't gonna front these n*ggas greasy just to get chicken
Searching for you suckas pistol, hungry, I been soul stickin’
Why these n*ggas acting like they active, jackson [?]
Oh yeah baby lеt me talk my sh*t, I know they'll go missing
They ain't gonna blow that boy, just cut ya, hе just finished it
They know when its greasy, Imma go straight for that [?]

[Verse 2: 28AV]
I got three-thirty burners, I just traded for a sweep (I just, I just)
Slide in my grand whip, no tint here (skrt!)
Don't work in the [?] don't move (block)
b*tch I'm so jacked, I got southside feet
I did blue and red rubies, and Patek from geneva
b*tch you f*ckin' with them opps, you can get swiss cheesed (f*ck)
Mozzarella packs and these chrome-hard slacks (phew, phew)
Let a mothaf*cka try me, get his chest disattached
b*tch we straight up out the rarri, got the city on my back
You just caught your first body, but you ran like it's trapped
Boy we stay around he and her
Keep that fan and sh*t 'round here
Go Vietnam and sh*t 'round here
Go Vietnam and sh*t 'round here
Boy you dissing on dead, then your brodi got popped
Got them b*tches on red, she a lonely lil' thot
Run up on the block, everybody get flocked
Got a big ol' block, here you go Soly Wop
[Verse 3: Soly Wop]
Put a red dot on your head [?] (bow)
Where the hell you go, like my name said wrong
You say you got packs but b*tch we got tons
Bigmouth seen but [?]
You ain't bring these in the club, you ain't know we got it
And you's the reason we got the .40 and the pocket rocket
Pocket rocket on my head [?]
He don't know that we play with drums and we like [?]
He don't know that we drive cars and yet we pimp on barbies
And you can catch me on the plane, prolly pimpin, pop it
Ooh, ride it, ride away
They tell me "soly how you feeling getting paid, gettin’ rich"
But one thing about me will change [?]
Cause I just hang out with them killers, yeah them grave diggers

[Verse 4: G6]
When the black van hit the block, pus*y n*gga better lay down
Lil bro fired off, hit his ass with a K round
I know they on me 'cause I seem to seldom play around
Last n*gga thought sh*t was sweet, tried to snatch my- (ooh), had to lay him down
Then we catch a flight out of town
Send a b*tch, might push her pound
Stakes on the drip though, amiri jeans, .30 pokeing out
Knock your b*tch, got her choking out
50 on me, got a [?]
Going strong, call "we're rolling out"
What you wanna do now
It's that mafia sh*t
Uh, I need a mafia b*tch
I need burn on the clock with a switch
Don't push up on me, I don't got no sense, yeah
And we don't [?] yeah
Coming straight up out them trenches