r3 da chilliman - shooting star lyrics
[verse 1: stoneda5th]
hotbox a whip, we flamed ’em up, they almost died with each other
i ain’t smokin’ on free weed, smokin’ on free weed’s brother
bounce out on an opp, he tried to run, smacked his head with a sh+ll
557 hit his face and the chest, he died before he fell (run that back, west)
case with the homie, i’ll burn ’em up if i feel like they gon’ tell
if they book me in today, i’ma tear up the dorm
they say knew my daddy a joint, been a joint since i was born
man, y’all trippin’, smokin’ wasn’t mine, ain’t never hangin’ out
he got popped on the north and died on the south
the homie caught a body, then got booked in robert presley
quit squabblin’ the homies, go catch a body, tryna impress me
f+ck thinkin’ ’bout them old skits, let’s go do ’em again
caught him on the bench right before him like how to smack out the benz
ain’t no cap, i know y’all heard about me
where i’m from, it’s mandatory to go take a trip
where the homies like lil suges taught me how to go and break a b+tch
burgy got put on and caught a body, he a maniac
hit they block, then made ’em run, don’t believe me, ask yak
if you catch me lackin’ in the past, that ain’t no comin’ back
if you lookin’ for me, i’m on the ave smokin’ ‘wood with a strap
why you don’t shake that n+gga hand? ’cause i don’t f+ck with him
whenever a n+gga that’s hangin’ with the opps, y’all gon’ duck with ’em
he ain’t never slid for the gang, so i can’t smoke with him
because i’m smokin’ dead n+ggas, you just smokin’ kush
i was in the mafia, run from the police, hid the blower in the bush
n+ggas actin’ tough on the streets, in the hall, you had ’em shook
you gotta run my fade to run his fade, you ain’t gettin’ off the hook
spinned down they block, we ain’t see n0body, but we gon’ spin back
smacked up the whip, we could’ve k!lled him but we caught a flat
drive through the hill with gucci shoes on, 3 was not cappin’
burnt the whip and hop in designer shoes, we all got smackin’
n+ggas kept playin’ with the gang, so they all got smacked on
b+tches wanna f+ck with the gang because our money long
bounce out the buck with a flamethrower tryna get ’em gone
if you ain’t never shot a human, don’t hop in this car
mama said i gotta make it ’cause i’m a shooting star
[verse 2: r3 da chilliman]
if you wanna trophy up, you gotta smoke me
f&n with blue tips, i’m shootin’ goatees
well+respected by the shooters, they know i don’t freeze
ling ling boppin’, i’m knockin’ up, i know who tryna bleed
i was in the mafias hittin’ gates, sh+t crashin’ on me
this fifteen bands in all blues, i got it stashed on me
cracked in the car first, they ain’t get a chance to pop on us
we all got pistol cases and we still got glocks on us
they know we shootin’ sh+t up, ain’t no hangin’ out
he got his ass beat, not me, i would’ve banged it out
perc’ after perc’, still a k!ller without these meds
boosie fades and headtaps, r3 don’t do the dreads
if they post they location, we gon’ score on n+ggas
eleven hundred for these jeans, you should see what’s in ’em
he ain’t supposed to be in here, so i’m gassin’ up
it’s dead opps in this ‘wood, i can’t pass this blunt
n+ggas know when they see me, i’m still like that
spank him on his block, if it’s a candlelight, we come right back
if he got an icy chain or rollie, he came with us
it’s a pistol party, you ain’t got one, can’t hang with us
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