Stomper, Lil Minor, Chino Grande - Gangster Relief lyrics

Every bitch I came across over 30 and shit
But, I’m sure they came
Across the dirtiest dick
I got bitches in New York
Ready to jump my bones
These bitch boys never think I’m
Gonna catch em though
A new hyna so fine, with a ass so fly
I got a box full of
Shells and I’m still outside
I will bail with a drill and
Leave you drenched in blood
A ski mask in all black
With some matching gloves
I’m just a south east legend
From the dub one three
Matter of fact baby boy I’m
Just a certified G
With hot shells that I bring
Guaranteed to leave a sting
I’ll rip the flesh off your face
With an AR-15 like
Causе when this shit just crack
These hoеs gon blame me
Around here we don’t correspond too lightly
Matter of fact I heard these
Muthafucking feds indicting like uh

Oh ahh I’m fucking with the light
Take a puff hold it in
Bucking Glocks at a cop
We be setting up shop
On them neighborhood street corners
My con funk technician slash
Dope boy stage performer
Ain’t no need to fake the funk
Homie you don’t wanna
I’ll catch ya slipping when
You least expect it you’s a goner
Bagging fat sacks of glass and I weigh it out
I’m catching
Got em hooked like a rainbow trout
About clocking paper even on a rainy day
Get it while you can
Homie we bound to die anyway
Sign my soul on the dotted line
If I ain’t clocking royalties
I gotta blast for mine
With a mini snort teen and a plastic nine
Extra clips in my pocket cause I
Smash when I’m on the grind
And you could bet when I
Rep and I gain respect
I got that one hitter quitter homie
P Town connect

Well it’s like once upon a time
In the land of the sick
I was a crazy little homie
Always starting some shit
Representing the click
No time for playing no games
I hung with killers, drug dealers
No love for cowards and lames born to bang
My only mission was to make me a name
Catch me a punk rat vieja
Homie blow out his brains back in the days
My crazy ways they got me locked in a cage
Shit I was burning in flames
Living my life in a rage
Front page I seen my face
Now I’m wanted for murder
On the run murder one
You know I’m packing my burner
By the time I was 16
I had them infrared beams
Smoking blunts and busting leans
Slanging dope to them fiends
I had the bitches sucking dick
And breaking bread with a playa
Watching my back for fucking rats
And packing straps for the haters
South east with the streets
That created a king
Born to be one of the realest
Out the Sur one three