Cassidy - Bang Bang lyrics

I put the "b" in "banger"
Used to getting money
Now you know I'm no stranger to the hustle
I'm strapped up like a raider from the tomb
Force with my platoon
I do shit you boys don't do
I'm known in the streets as a
Nigga that done did it
Put infrared beams on your fitted
Trust me, you can get it
Nigga, you can get it
Throw the handle back and watch
The motherfucker bang, bang, Bang

Yes
If I'm not the best, nigga, then I got next
Cause I talk that shit like
A nigga with hot breath
You niggas not threats
Them things'll bang in
Things could change if you never got shot yet
I'm quick to bust
Like a man that never got sex
But you don't get the message
Like a blind man that got text
I used to love to box, until I shot Tecs
Now I never brawl
Like a broad that ain't got breasts
I'm not press, I don't wanna talk
Man, my motherfucking gun'll spark and
Make a nigga somersault
I'll shoot the damn thing and
Make a nigga handspring
Or I'll spark steel and
Make a nigga cartwheel
Matter of fact, clap the gat
Turn him to an acrobat
Have the cat flip around before
I put the pistol down
Your lame mouth which you better
Keep my name out
I ain't in a gang, I don't bang
I just banged out

I'm back out riding gun at your head
Bullet the center like Bonham
Shotgun with the shotgun seat reclining
I pop up on niggas
Let it off, close shop up on niggas
Infection, stay in the cut on niggas
I'm in a whole nother section
I could look in the mirror, my reflection
Moves like Inception
Extraordinary gentleman
What more could I say?
Got the picture in the cut, like Dorian Gray
I'm a shooter like Allan Quartermain
I give you more than pain
First page in the hard nigga Hall of Fame
Duane Darock on the beat
SP the Ghost, I make it pop on the streets
Probably in the spot for a week
One eye open, with the Glock on a sleeve


I let the thing blam
They call me the Rain Man
I'm out of bullets, get 'em hung, nigga
Hang Man
You get me, hang it up there's problems
I flame it up
Bang it up, snap back, long t, banger tucked
Yup, my block pitching, yeah I got pigeons
I'm into cooking
I fuck with bitches that got kitchens
If I can't find Jordan
Then I'll rob Pippen
I leave 'em bloody and skin red
Like Rob Griffin
Home real spit, the shotty blast
You gon' see the body bags
Men in black, no Will Smith
Real shit, used to grind and we still grind
Beefing with the grill time, full metal
Steel time
Niggas getting stole on trying to steal mine
Cock pack, peel mine tape 'em up, real time
Jump you, the mask on and Berettas bang
Sound clear, holmes? Out here
We gonna let it bang