[Verse 1]
Pistol grip poetry
Every gangbanger in the city streets notice me
Cha-cha with the choppers
If it ain't yellow tape, send him straight to the doctor
I'm stashed up nasty
I ain't tripping if the cops ever gaffle me
That's what I'm getting money for
I'm the n***a that The Clicc go dummy for
Made my first twenty thousand on 112th
To this day it's Broadway, I don't know nothing else
Hoes down on the blade playing patty-cake
The way I put shit together, n***as had to hate
Better watch your step 'fore you step in some shit
Thought the homie was a gangster, but he messy like a bitch
Shouts out to G Snub, he a real one
Real Innerprize Crip that'll kill something

[Verse 2]
We got motion from South Central to East Oakland
Real members like, "G Scrilla, keep it going"
Real members hanging out on some ghetto shit
If n***as don't want peace, then we gon' level shit
That's pistol grip poetry
I'm throwing shots and ain't hiding, I'ma let 'em know it's me
Cha-cha with the chops
Heard the block was for sale, so we cashed out and bought it
Finally went legit, no more going on the run
All the shit that I done did, God forgive me when I come
Gordon stay on a lake, that shit proper
It's a trip cause he getting rich selling Urban Water
Gotta trust the process, I done made my own lane
I'm looking good, I know it's hard for you to digest
They using my identity, but they dissing me
I'm God and these n***as like Judas, they been killing me
[Verse 3]
All this pressure sitting up under these palm trees
If I gotta watch then you for sure gotta watch me
Yeah, that's pistol grip poetry
Extended clip, I'll for sure put a hole in him
Yeah, cha-cha make 'em backflip
Thought I had a homie, but them n***as always catfish
Shout out to my people in them concrete caskets
On the phone calling home for a package
Tell my n***a Swiss, "Won't be long 'fore you back again
We turning up, but this time, I'm having Ms"
Yeah, that's motion
I won't let 'em trick me out my spot, bro I'm focused
I still got my soul and my heart, I ain't sold it
I pray to God that n***as don't make me have to smoke 'em
I pray to God that n***as don't make me have to smoke 'em
But if I do, fuck it, it's pistol grip poetry