Sharc, Pi’erre Bourne - Gang Pop lyrics

The only thing on the mind of a shark
Is to eat

New turban
Doing shiesty, snipe him off the bike
Brown skin, in her birkin feisty
Icy brightly she cling cocky with her tongue
And make it mighty tighty
Micro, draco tiny but it's spiking lightning
We been merking shit since sidekicks
Turn they hats to visors
Cuzzo move like he Al Qaeda
Shake the ground in Rikers
She ride dick just like a soldier
Know she wasn't frightened
Touch her toes, I bend her over
Fuck up her alignment
Skin it out bae, balance pilin'
Can you Dutty Wine it
I make fireworks and rockets
Burst in your vagina it's pitch black, bae
Help me guide it once I get inside it
The Benz coupe insane
Send that shit to Shutter Island

Yeah, I leave the telly smelly
I do Xans in the pit
And your mans getting glizzied
Put this hand on the glick
She handstand on the cock bape camo Glock
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

Woulda thought you came from China
With this tighty wetty
Tryna approach the bitch polite
The Mary pockets heavy someone got hit
Glocky 20, that was not the semi headshot
Mommy's hot spaghetti
My bitch bad like Mary Poppins
'cause she popping Chevys
Party jumping, I look at her
It look like she ready
Drive her home in that Tarantula
And get the necky
Bam blocks, with some immigrants
The Natty Dreadys thumb first
I be wildin' with the Glock posse
Rifles, next to bibles, I know God got me
Psycho, if he black out then he split noggins
Put the tracker on your
Trackhawk front your crib, dot 'em

Yeah, I leave the telly smelly
I do Xans in the pit
And your mans getting glizzied
Put this hand on the glick
She handstand on the cock bape camo Glock
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

Gang inside the vip, so you front
You get smoked (I'm with them though)
Trappin' in the trench
30 drums and bubble coats
(Drums and bubble coats) keep some fire shit
She do Chanel, your hoe do Coach
Bitch, I made you flee
You don't know shit 'bout Rick Owens
(Ain't know shit 'bout Ricky Owens)
VVS like Creed
Young boy still play with Bitcoins
I'm in Hollywood, no Uncle Phil
Just big dope (Bitch)
Roll my spliff deluxe while all
The villains stick tote cuzzo in the cut
You play with him it's big smoke (Big smoke)

Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop
Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop
Yeah, them things go pop
Yeah, the gang gon' pop

(Nah, not like that, thats fake though)
If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks
Draco under my armpit (Pull the driver down
Might got to kill the driver) yeah
(Nah, not like that, thats fake though)
If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks
Draco under my armpit (Pull the driver down
Might got to kill the driver) yeah