Computers

[Verse 1: Lil Mouse]

Posted on the nine with some savages
Everybody scared of us cause we be clapping shit
Keep some killers with me ain't with that lacking shit
Call my brother Grupy he shoot like the Mavericks bitch
Hit the car my shooter down he on some savage shit
He on some run up in your house and kill your granny shit
I could turn a good girl into a block-bitch
And have her runnin' round holding on my Glock bitch
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Dooka chase a nigga down with them hollow tips
Me and Ball in that foreign hit your block bitch
Got a hundred rounds if you on that op shit
Don't ride down my block without your lights on
Shotta toting on the block, all night long
I fuck on these bitches with my crew
I see an op I hit that moochie when I shoot
I love flexing pull up in that drop-top coupe
I love designer fifteen hundred for my shoes
Call Milly for a hit bet he gone shoot
Deezy ridin' through your hood in that Benz coupe
Me and Jigga on the nine with the nine
Call up my shooters if you tryin' than you dyin'
I'm in every nigga's hood with my gang
They on dummy if you woofin' you get changed
They ain't shoot for legs they aiming for brains
Free my nigga Nookie, used to keep that thing
Call my cousin Skee he say he in the trap
Fosey keep that burner run up you get clapped
We 'bout a hundred deep everybody in black
Fifty's in the front and fifty's in the back
They throwing bullets so I call 'em quarterbacks
The ops they running-backs when they running back
Roll up with that forty make him have a heart attack
It make him jump up and down no jumping jacks
Everybody ridin' round with a mac
Talking tough Ray put a hundred to his chest
Ain't gotta tell my shooters twice, boy they gone blow
Ski mask though so they really don't know
That Glock on twenty four
Pull up smoke an op and then go pour a four
I got shooters all the way, on the low
I got killers and you know they trained to blow
Bodies dropping police come bu they don't know
And if you acting like a stain than you get poked
Low and loading up that glizzy, smoking dope
In a foreign ridin' deep, with my crew
I paid a lot for my Balmains, I don't wear Trues
My gun hold a thirty some hold thirty-two
I just pulled out the lot, they cut the roof
Paid a lot for my phone its bullet-proof
Nigga's say I will fall off but it ain't true
My team they go crazy for me they gone shoot
Its a lot of sneak dissers in your crew
Don't wanna see my shooters spark don't make 'em shoot