94

Yo DJ play that new BONES song right now

Kicking in the door, clip hold twenty-four
I'm home, bitch, what the issue is?
Bitching on the phone to a bitch so loud, you couldn't even hear a DeadBoy enterin'
Caught him in the kitchen, I am fucking on a mission
Twelve shots, motherfuck a pistol whip
He sipping that mud, I slip on that blood, now the sole on my boots they glistening
Blood spill, spit in his face
Sprayin' him like some fucking mace
Creep pulling up in a G, skull stitched on the seats inside my getaway
Tanqueray in my glass, reminiscing of my fucked up past
Matter of fact bustin' all black but there's many memories I wish I never had
Kicking back, smoke a blunt
High as fuck, my brain is ripped
Talking to my partner 'bout a play for some guala
He down, I'm down, lets hit the strip
Storm clouds every day, even if its just inside my head
Thunder and lightning, I am coming to strike him
He see BONES and he know he dead