Che, shehatesjj - 762 lyrics

762, hit it right through your ligaments
I'm chillin’, man
Sendin' out my niggas to go kill again
(Pooh)
No, I cannot leave no fucking witnesses
(Ah, no no no) i'm worried ’bout guap
I gotta get my fucking dividends (Woah)
Sippin' on that red, this ain't no juice
(Ain't no juice, no)
Nigga can't even call no fucking truce
(Don't call no truce, bitch)
Slidin' with that yoppa, boy, got a tool
(yeah, come here)
And these bullets like a flower finna bloom
(Ha ha haha)

And that choppa make that nigga lean to it
Smokin' on yo pack, lil’ bitch
I might be out of breath
And my lungs ain’t finna fill
Keep on smokin' on yo gang
Oh, he keep that steel
I don’t doubt them bullets hit yo head

Feelin' like i got Balenci-Balenci'
I got this choppa that aim at yo team
Don't want no smoke, this shit get griddy
(Prra)
Come on the East Side, niggas, they can’t
For me, I got a choppa, it came with a beam
Still with the money, that salary
Might take a trip down to LA, bih'
Feel like Yeat, I pull up in a Tonka truck
Bitches on my line, they say they wanna fuck
Uh, they wanna fuck with the guys
Run it back, keep me that knife
I got that ho by my side

Keep my man up on my side, lil' nigga
Yeah, I did this shit, I ran that shit
Niggas talking down, we hit a ligament
I fucked that bitch
Fuck, nigga, yeah, I'm the shit
Nigga, I pictured it, I did that shit
If you pass the ball I
Ain't gon' miss that shit i did that shit

Like, bitch, I got a bag
And it came straight from the west
Bitch, I got her bra
Put my kids up on her chest
My lil' broad so bad
She might eat me up for breakfast
Bitch, this is Romani, fuck ass nigga
Who gon' check me?

762, hit it right through your ligaments
I'm chillin', man
Sendin' out my niggas to go kill again
(Pooh)
No, I cannot leave no fucking witnesses
(Ah, no no no) i'm worried 'bout guap
I gotta get my fucking dividends (Woah)
Sippin' on that red, this ain't no juice
(Ain't no juice, no)
Nigga can't even call no fucking truce
(Don't call no truce, bitch)
Slidin' with that yoppa, boy, got a tool
(yeah, come here)
And these bullets like a flower finna bloom
(Ha ha haha)

And that choppa make that nigga lean to it
Smokin' on yo pack, lil' bitch
I might be out of breath
And my lungs ain't finna fill
Keep on smokin' on yo gang
Oh, he keep that steel
I don't doubt them bullets hit yo head