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z-dogg - glock in my hand lyrics


[verse 1: z+dogg]
i’m wakin’ up, friday morning to a fat mack blunt
i grip my pump and load it up and put it into my trunk
i’m on my way to do a stang, for the hoe with my keys
i got my cellular phone and called up some of my g’s
i picked them up, off on the block, now we leavin’ the scene
we lookin’ mean, we ride so clean, now we fire up that green
we full of them blunts, with the smoke it’s z+dogg in this b+tch
i got my pump, it’s loaded up and i ain’t takin’ no sh+t
i’m ’bout to lay these n+ggas down, put this crown on my chest
so many n+ggas get caught slippin’, with no bullet proof vest
i hit the junt and kicked the buster, put my pump to his head
you gotta drop off them keys, before you еnd up dead
we did the stang, wе got away, we took the mask off our face
we four deep, we straight from frayser, never catchin’ no case

[verse 2: misdemeanor]
player+hatin’ n+ggas wanna step to me
mad, ’cause i’m cl!cked up with the gimisum family
f+ck that sh+t, i got the antidote, to solve your problems
kick in your doors, with my glock and commence
to poppin’ on a heavy n+gga, always wanna talk sh+t
got him on his knees, cryin’ like a punk b+tch
pop him in his head, with my motherf+ckin’ steel
gotta let him know, this n+gga from the north is for real
machete in the side, of my back f+ckin’ pocket
take it out and shove it through your f+ckin’ eye socket
laugh, as the blood start to gush everywhere
tie you to grenades, in a god d+mn chair
mafia style k!llin’, is what you be gettin’
too late to beg and plead and ask me for forgiveness
i quickly set the bomb, i hear his screams, as i run
crashin’ through your window, ’cause my mission has been done
[verse 3: big hill]
now officer friendly backin’ off, because the blastin’ of the sawed+off
big baller, my rottweilers they maulers
i got that nine, with the beam
hollow point rip with teflon+tips
makin’ them busters scream
well, levi’s can’t stitch them jeans
face to the concrete as i leap back, into my lexus jeep
stash my heat, and fired up a tampa sweet
cruisin’ down your street b+tch, now who’s talkin’ sh+t?
c+ck+sucker flaugin’, with that skinny b+tch
hey, young girl, stay young
’cause when you get big
them water guns ain’t toys
them n+ggas ain’t no boys
these hoes creep, when you sleep
they servin’ that alcohol, with some visine
nighty+night trick, sweet dreams

[outro: lil ced]
really, i could care less ’bout your boy
f+ck up, glock in my hand
really, i could care less ’bout your boy
don’t f+ck up, glock in my hand
really, i could care less ’bout your boy and your f+ckin’ business
glock, glock in my hand
glock, glock in my hand
glock, glock

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