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ian carey - shot caller lyrics

verse 1: mc ren
n-gg-s in the hood lookin at me crazy
tellin n-gg-s like they wanna f-ck my old lady
same f-ckin sh-t every day at 8 o’clock
n-gg-, start my day off raisin off the c-ck
i throw the khakis on, with the t-shirt
never knowin when a n-gg- might hit the dirt
i’m thinkin, how in the f-ck can i get high quicker
mix the blunt with some m-th-f-ckin malt liquor
these n-gg-s that i love, i don’t trust em, but i stay close to em
in case i gotta do em
we from the same set, but that don’t mean sh-t no mo’
i be premeditatin with the.44 (.44)
my hoe be tellin a n-gg- to peel they caps back
cause i know where them n-gg-s hide they sh-t at
sh-t be on my mind, return a shot call
broke as f-ck, it’s about to get hot, y’all
[ chorus: big rocc ]
n-gg-s starvin while you’re home with the mills
n-gg-s killin while you’re doin dope deals
out flossin, throwin 100 $ bills
time to set yo -ss up for the kill
death of a shot caller, who can you trust?
it might be your number 1 n-gg- that bust
a cap, he’s the next one to take charge
smoke him and his b-tch in his backyard
[ verse 2: mc ren ]
a n-gg-‘s sittin on the curb
hear that n-gg- come b-mpin with the suburb
got my n-gg-s on point, same n-gg-s he be f-ckin hoes with
and rollin up the blunts when he wanna get lit
homie, when that n-gg- put the mutahf-cka in park?
that’s the signal, little n-gg-, pump 3 in his heart
don’t feel sh-t, cause it’s real sh-t, he a b-tch
n-gg-s in the hood doin bad while he gettin rich
off this sh-t we be killin n-gg-s fo’
can’t make a move less this m-th-f-cka say so
n-gg-, f-ck that, i’m runnin this sh-t
i’ma look him in his eyes when his punk–ss gettin hit

but if you miss, n-gg-, i’ma kill you
cause if he get away, m-th-f-cka, then we all through
f-ck 3 shots, n-gg-, add 2
and handle what the f-ck you gotta do
kill the shot caller
man, you know we been smokin n-gg-s for this m-th-f-cka
this n-gg- ain’t paid us sh-t, man
(i know, dog)
hold up, hold up, hold up, dog
man, gimme the gat, i – d-mn
hey n-gg-, you got my m-th-f-ckin money?
n-gg-, f-ck yo money, n-gg-
no n-gg-, f-ck you
(-shots-)
oh sh-t, oh sh-t…
d-mn!
[ verse 3: tha chill ]
these o.g.’s got me twisted like twizzler
got me heated and hot, and all i’m thinkin is killin ya
peelin ya cap back, like starter, fool
i’m comin to get you n-gg-s off my block, so i pack a full
glock with big slugs, and you know i buck no doubs
cause you know a n-gg- steelo, how i did them fools a week ago
one week p-ssed, i’m hearin you wanna wet us
when you see ren, rocc, tha chill, you’re puttin on the jetters
what the f-ck? these n-gg-s tryin to bust on me?
so i’m c-ckin up the can and ready to make them do some gas
and do some flippin, and all that
cause n-gg-s out here shot call, get they -ss jacked
and that’s the main fact, big payback for you punk m-th-f-cks
disrespectin the crew, it’s mandatory that i buck
-ss down from comptown, mr. shot caller
gonna be a fast faller if he ain’t a fast talker
fast walker, or better yet better be a fast runner
chill on the scope with the cannon, finna gun ya
dumpin 9 to the gut like “n-gg-, what? ”
this ol’ b.g. big baller, f-ck the m-th-f-ckin shot caller
[ chorus ]

- ian carey lyrics

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