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p.y.g - hundreds lyrics

[intro: shaqavelly]
[?]
young shak, shooting size
[?] d-ckhead, talking greazy
getting g-ssed in the boost whilst moving shook on the battlefield

[chorus: shooting size]
young size, young shak
real gunmen (real gunmen)
how much sweets have we got? hundreds (say nuttin’ x3)
we got sticks and we run them (run them)
any violations then we dun them
young size, young shak
real gunmen (real gunmen)
how much sweets have we got? hundreds (say nuttin’ x3)
we got sticks and we run them (run them)
any violations then we dun them

[verse 1: shooting size]
sh-ts crazy g (crazy), bare man are snaking me (snakes)
but little did they know i had a tray [?] (truss)
and it’s a chrome take (chrome), and it’s my own take (my own take)
i’ll park that and have your headtop ghosted (missing)
you dumb pr-cks ain’t see no guns (nah d-ckhead)
put my strap on the bus yeah i’m talking ’bout the 381 (hahaha)
put my bally on (bally on), put jeans on then i get my swagger on (get my swagger on)
i don’t spit what i do, all the time (nah)
but what i spit is what i do and it’s never a lie (never)
it never has been (never), never will be (nah)
i don’t lie ‘cus i hate feeling guilty (truss)
sh-t’s crazy now (crazy 09 09)
and what, you don’t rate me now? (f-ck that)
but i came up from the blocks when it was rowdy fam
and nothing’s impossible that’s why i never doubt a man (never)

[verse 2: shaqavelly]
n-ggas wan’ talk greaze on track
but wan’ move p-ssy hole on the battlefield (d-ckhead)
gunman size come through with a maggy once he slaps you g (kaboom)
if you see me on your block with a mac [?]
better move lightwork, [?], athletes feet (p-ssy hole)
‘cus on the [?], heads get slapped
my aims real nice oooh (dead, dead)
i might slap your sh-t
young shak, you know that my gunner g (young shak)
violate, imma body d-ckhead with the rambo
watch the [?] hits you dead (dead)
who’s house of 30 beats, i went anyway (wasteman)
3 man deep (3 man), and ducked down 30 neeks (30, 30, 30)
little did they know i had a big ting
holds about 30 t–th (macs, macs macs)
i head this d-ckhead shallow talking real greazy (wasteman)
‘cus he know he can’t jump in the deep end fam (no, no, no), where the yg’s be
the 4 5, we’re drowning deep (dead, dead, dead)

[outro: shaqavelly, shooting size]
might have to say f-ck that other side
get your gwop up innit
then try and beef man
straps ain’t nothing truss
you know what? f-ck it
man learn to ride on the other side now
remember what i’m wearing
you d-ckheads are probably gonna run you little b-tch n-ggas
man making videos fresh home and saying it’s real peak
(you liar) you’re a liar (you liar, peak trust me, you man are liars)
it is peak bruv, you’re coming around here (you man are lying), and not doing sh-t (you man stop lying, d-ckhead)
you man stop lying, johnny guns, whatever the f-ck they call him
johnny blanks (man suck your mudda), you little p-ssy making videos “fresh home”
what prison did you go bruv? you didn’t go f-cking jail
you came off ends ‘cus man was on you, ‘cus you’re a p-ssy hole like that (haha, pakihole ting, never forget, f-cking wallad, d-ckhead)
shallow, you went who’s house bruv? and done what? done what? you’re a pr-ck that’s why
and you know what time it is fam, suck your mum fam (pitch, pitch, trust me)

- p y g lyrics

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