Facts lyrics

[Verse 1: Montana]
I got a mopstick, I be on the block b*tch i be lurkin'
He on that opp sh*t, I smoke his top b*tch I'm a surgeon
I got a Glock b*tch and I got a stick so I'ma murk him
Headshot, that's a murder
D.O.A my n*ggas hurt
Yeah we swervin' b*tch we swervin'
And we riding with the thirtys
I'll light yo ass up, cause I shoot like Stephen Curry
Drop the Y we do you dirty, drop the Y we do you dirty
Yeah we stay blicked up so my n*ggas ain't worry
RIP the gang free the gang
All I know it's Fatz Gang
You ain't on the same thing
Blick yo ass, switch lanes
Make a day on a day
All my n*ggas 46K
Catch a opp smoke his face
Masked up so no case
D.O.A, D.O.A, smoke Bob in his grave
KeKe laywer, beat this casе
f*ck twelve we on thе chase
We need money so we take, we need money so we take
Foenem get right on your ass, make your n*ggas do the race
These n*ggas screamin' GetBackGang but they wanna be like gang
Catch a n*gga with they chain
Dead gang, take they chain
All these n*ggas switchin' up but your ass mantain
b*tch my n*ggas Loose Skrew gang, Fatz gang same thing
And I got a couple shortys blick your ass for a name
Make you do the runnin' man, when the shooters hop out van
How you runnin' with your man? you got left at your man
Why you runnin' with your man? Foenem just hopped out 4 vans
[Verse 2: Drilla]
Foenem just hop out the vans, prolly hit him in his chin
Loose Skrew gang, we ain't playin'
I had pipes since I was ten
We be on that gang sh*t
[?], hop out sprayin'
KD hit Mad Max, he be tweakin' off the meds
We ride around with three sticks
We stay lurkin' through the six
Folks hit him in his brains, I swear god I was: "oh sh*t"

[Verse 3: Montana]
f*ck the six and f*ck the WIIIC
Pull up, pop out with them sticks
It's gon' be a murder scene, we go reckless with the blicks
Caught you, Drilla, bro don't miss
This top is from that target hit

[Verse 4: Drilla]
Put that Beretta on the six
Cause them n*ggas ain't on sh*t
Just might go to Just Turkey
I swear to god, they good as sh*t
I smoke Bob-O, cause that stank smell like sh*t
And don't shoot thought no cars, we ballin' out on you b*tch
Lil Boo hit, smell like b*tch
Had a tire on his sh*t
[Verse 5: Montana]
I be high off the sh*ts
I came home from hitting licks
n*ggas mad at Young Money cause we prolly f*ck they b*tch
Blame you up, no, we don't miss
Put the red tape all on the six
Guarantee you a man down
When I hop out with my blick
And this .40 don't got kick
Run up on em face that b*tch
Steady blowing that new pack, cause the opps ain't on sh*t

[Outro: Montana]
f*ck the six and f*ck the WIIIC
We steady slidin' on Bricks