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injury reserve - hpngc lyrics

[verse 1: ritchie wit a t]
shh, shh, shh
i don’t wanna hear a peep, n-gg-
shh, shh, shh
shut the f-ck up, n-gg-
i don’t wanna hear a peep, n-gg-
creep n-gg-s
border collie for the sheep n-gg-s
flee n-gg-
ain’t sh-t sweet n-gg-
they four deep n-gg-
shh, don’t wanna hear a peep n-gg-
shh, f-ck n-gg- sleep n-gg-
dweeb n-gg-
h-llo
speak n-gg-
they tryna eat n-gg-
trick or treat n-gg-
ah
please n-gg-
boom boom boom
dawg
dirt cheap n-gg-
here get ya beauty sleep n-gg-
n-gg- thats on gp n-gg-
oohwee n-gg-
fall asleep n-gg-s
pour one out for these n-gg-s
oh my n-gg-s these n-gg-
buy me a gun
and do it for fun
probably more martin than malcolm
when it comes to the funds
in the club
with the huey p. newton gun club
n-gg-

[verse 2: jpegmafia]
and these rap n-gg-s need bullets (facts, facts n-gg-)
it’s mr. twitter fingers (yeah)
a.k.a ms. trigger fingers
b-tch i feel nothing
‘specially from no b-tch n-gg-
i’m like a old white woman
n-gg-s make me nervous
b-tch i’m a black beatle
i can’t keep insta-lurking (huh)
i been watching and wishing
blicky stashed in the kitchen
i’m too big for my britches
i’m too rich for these b-tches
i feel like dj vlad but b-tch i’m never snitching
i keep lying to myself cause i just wanna kick it
i get my kenan ivory on and find out how you’re living
you n-gg-s p-ssy rather beat your meat then stick the clip in
i take my time you always russian, whats you n-gg-s mission
i feel like putin, go against me you ‘gone end up missin’
sometimes i wonder how these fake thugs keep winnin’
i can’t keep praying to these crackas i ain’t f-ckin wit th-
bruh
i’m at ya car
i’m at ya job
i’m at ya crib
i’m at ya house
i got the m4 in ya spouse
i got the sk on the couch
empty the clip
i’m tryna’ hit
shoot in the air
you sound like a b-tch
all on the gram you sound like a snitch
tell me just how you gon’ k!ll me
i feel like posh spice
i feel like robin givens
pick honda’s over benz’
leave some guap for my chillren
take a shot for the villains
load a shot for the k!llin’
sand paper peggy
decorate that gl-ss ceiling yea!
these n-gg-s
my chillren
f-ck bloggers
f-ck feelings
no filler

[interlude: jpegmafia]

this nasty
kimber baby

[verse 3: steppa j. groggs]
my brother
who copped a shotgun
from big 5
you couldn’t tell ’em sh-t man
we thought that we were big time
had me walking wit my chest out
like that sh-ts mine
even copped a little polish n-gg- so that sh-t shines
i was about a buck fifty
five nah
nas made me 5’10
his finger itchin’
n-gg-s thought
that we was wit the sh-ts
but he was never ‘fraid
still down to throw the fade
my little buddy in the back would make you walk away
ridin’ round strapped wit the thumper in the back
first time in awhile -beep-
ain’t have it on his lap
we were mobbin’ through berkeley like where the function at
seen em boys ride past and of course they circled back
only one n-gg-s seen they life flash when they flashed
if they search the car we all know its a wrap
it didn’t really help that we were drunk as f-ck
good thing they didn’t go and pop the trunk
n-gg-

- injury reserve lyrics

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