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Five Fast Hits

for nine-five, nine-six, suck dick Yes I got the bag full of brand new tricks Dead in the face, yes I'm gon' hit you with hits Oh my God, me and my

critics you can kiss our whole assholes You don’t like our lyrics you can press fast forward Beef with radio if we don’t play they show They don’t play our hits

a rip shop, tell that ass drop Five O ice, yo fuck a damn cop 'Cause I move hard and cold with a gangster stroll Five thousand dollar suits and fly gold

, nigga that's the life When the slugs hits, I wonder will the pain last See my life like a movie, inside my brain fast I'm asking you, 'cause we used

in a drop I spit the ridiculous fast dump a clip in ya ass Push ya shit in the back, knocked ya shit is a rap All we gotta do, put the hits out like

in my hood [Verse 1 - Ludacris] Everybody on the corner with the work Slinging and banging in front of that liquor store Blowing money because I live life fast

much boyd to increase the leave, You bitches can't fuck with me, 'cause I repeatedly, fed my peoples, somethin' devious, Even the unfortunate, I'm leavin' behind no one, Scored five

runnin', and runnin' runnin', and... In this context, there's no disrespect, so, when I bust my rhyme, you break your necks. We got five minutes for

critics, you can kiss our whole asshole If you don't like my lyrics, you can press fast forward Beef with radio, if we don't play they show They don't play out hits