80 Bars nigga, I’ll hope on it, about to spit this shit so loud, get the cops on me. Fake ass, triple X up on yo chest, talking shit on the mic, "This white boys the best!" Boy you ain’t shit, getcha punk ass robbed, WanGang eat yo ass up like corn up on the cob. Don’t even tell me that you “grinding hard”, only thing you “grinding” is yo mama’s yard. Keep this knowledge sealed up in that carton, I keep it 300 hundred, like Spartans. I swear to God I ain’t fronting, WanGang ENT? That’s what yo niggas bumping. My music up in yo ear phones, bass so violent, I’m braking bones, spitting flows like cyclones, run it back to Gloom, I'm going “Home”
16 During the making, 17 when it drops, produce everybody’s shit and I can’t even get no fucking props. But it don’t matter, don’t nobody even care, post all these statuses, can’t even get 1 one share, make an excuse and can’t come do a feature cause they ain’t got no time to spare. Everybody struggling, trying to make it to the top, i’m not gone quit till I decease and then probably never ever stop. Doing what they can, to bring my ass down, 2 years from now, you’re gonna be the one still stuck in this fucking town, bitch
Please tell me what’s the benefit of rapping about hoes? Oh you slept with a girl that’s easy, now everybody knows. Oh yeah and I forgot, you never let down your guard, another song about drugs, yeah your pretty hard. I'm sick of these fucking cheesy ass wanna be rappers, talking about their guns, completely ass backwards. So really I mean really, if you wanna step me, just letting you know your stepping to WanGang ENT. And no I'm not staying that “I’m the best” but if you piss me off i’m probably gonna become possessed. 1, 2, 3 and to the 4, WiseBurger’s gaining fans and all they want is more. HopeSolid in the back of my range rover, on the way to the top trying get some exposure, get into a gunfight while under composure, step on the gas, this hoe is about to get ran the fuck over
I'm coming back in locked and mother fucking loaded, sorry my feelings got left out in the rain their mother fucking corroded. I do not give one fuck about you or the story, grab that fucking drum straight out of my inventory. Bitch I’m out here lurkin, raise my coat tail, that 7” blade, get yo fucking ass impaled. “Boy I’m all about that paper, bitch it ain’t no game”, this song is just like the others, it’s all the fucking same
