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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Juicy J
Vocals
Gangsta Boo
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jordan Houston
Songwriter
Lola Mitchell
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Hitkidd
Producer
Lyrics
The city's so-called "follow home robberies"
Where police say, teams of thieves generally
Work in orchestrated groups to target
Follow, assault and steal from unsuspecting victims
Recently very rare, now all too common
Gotta keep that strap
Gotta watch your back
Gotta keep that strap
Gotta watch your back
Gotta keep that strap
Gotta watch your back (Hitkidd, what it do, man?)
Gotta keep that strap (Ayy, ayy)
You know the procedure when that pistol in your face
Kidnap and tie your family up, that money in that safe
Now give me that, give me that shit, give me that shit
Drop it off, give me that shit, give me that shit
Yeah, circle your block a few times, don't just pull up where you stay
If you don't feed the killers, that's when you turn into prey
Now give me that, give me that shit, give me that shit
Drop it off, give me that shit, give me that shit
No remorse for the shit they did, kidnapping your kid
Play it smooth, yeah, you know the rules, walk 'em in his crib
Tape their mouth, you can't hear 'em cry, but you see the tears
Where the vault?
This ain't what you thought, boy, these niggas serious
Than a bitch, boy, you better not flinch, that's when shit get tense
Home invasion, they done left 'em stankin', whole house got a stench
Hittin' licks out at all events 'cause they be in the mix
And you drunk off that Casamigo, tweakin' with a bitch
You should've dipped when that gang left but you was playin' chess
Gave that boy so many face shots he didn't have no brains left
Be prepared for the triple-cross and let your issue off
'Cause your homies just gon' tell your mama sorry for her loss
To be aware is to be alive, look niggas in their eyes
'Cause the snakes right there in the grass, please don't be surprised
By the danger, treacherous, thought you was lit, you died
It's a must that you keep in touch and keep it on your side
You know the procedure when that pistol in your—
Robbers wait for their victims often near high-price luxury stores
To tale them to an isolated area, sometimes their own home
Underground tape cassette shit (Yeah, rest in peace, Gangsta Boo)
Memphis, what's up, mane? Yeah (Hey, hey, hey, Mafia)
Yeah, plug god, Gangsta Boo,
What's up, mane? (Hitkidd, what it do, man?)
Bloody bodies in the yard like a zombie apocalypse (Yeah)
The walking dead,
I'm so-so scared and I don't know how to get up out this bitch (Yeah)
As I creep these ghetto streets, lookin' for a feast (Yeah)
Soon they bleed 'cause my eyes are red, hail Mary me (Let's go)
Look in the sky, niggas is do or just die,
I did not make up them rules (Yeah)
Please don't ask why, buster, 'cause neither did I,
I don't wanna lose my cool (Yeah)
Can't when shit hit the fan,
You better drop it off and that's strictly on demand
This be dead that gangster music that make them bitches lose it
(Let's go)
But it's all good 'cause I grew up on that hood shit
Started out at fourteen when I joined the Triple Six (Ho)
Bitches be hatin' 'cause we get so paid
And it's hard not to kill all you pussy hoes (Yeah, ho)
I'd hardly be hardly, the one that'll do it
Not claimin' I'll kill you, but it's nothin' to it (Yeah, ho)
Just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper, bitch
I put that pistol to your temple
Just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper, bitch
I put that pistol to your temple
Just come off of that paper, bitch (Let's go)
Just come off of that paper
Just come-just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper
Just come-just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper, bitch
Just come off of that paper, bitch
I put that pistol to your temple
Just come off of that paper, bitch (Let's go)
Writer(s): Jordan Houston, Lola Mitchell
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