Gangatroni
Gangatroni

EST Gee - Gangatroni Lyrics

2

Gangatroni Lyrics

Yeah, I'm with gangatroni
Ain't no question who I'm with, bitch, I'm with gangatroni

This shit ain't no tit for tat, let's make this thing a blowout (let's make this a blowout)
Retaliation to empty threats make niggas not wanna go out
(These niggas don't wanna go out, FOREVEROLLIN)
I found out that big gang had fucked your main and you was tore out (you was in your feelings)
And I don't speak opinions, only facts come out of my mouth (and that's a fact)
And hustling in my veins, shit, I was made inside a crack house (yes, and that's a fact)
And niggas talk that money shit, can't even pull a stack out (and that's a fact)
Was a blackout (baow, baow, baow, baow)
That's all he heard when I heard he was hatin' on me (yeah)
Nervous niggas workin', pray that they don't write no statement on me
(Pray they don't write no statements)
Tryna keep this street shit far behind me, but it's gainin' on me (shit getting closer)
You and me are not the same, I came for everything I wanted (came for all my shit)
Cashed out for my fourty-one on the spot, wasn't no payments on it (no, it wasn't no payments)
Everybody gettin' off, we see an opp, it ain't no waitin' on it (no, it wasn't no waiting)
If he ain't try to hit something when I got shot, then ain't no way we homies (no, it ain't no way)
My name got that ranking on it (gang)
Life too real, I can't be phony (gang, gang, gang, gang, gang)

Gangatroni (gang)
Ridin' round in the rental, tryna spank your homie (gang)
Thirty pokin' out my pockets, this shit can't be folded (gang)
Thirty underneath this rocket, Russell Westbrook, homie (gang)
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang
Gangatroni (gang)
Ridin' round in the rental, tryna spank your homie (gang)
Thirty pokin' out my pockets, this shit can't be folded (gang)
Thirty underneath this rocket, Russell Westbrook, homie (gang)
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang

When Quanny died, divided all us up, I brought it back now (rest in peace my nigga)
Big Basey say he cannot close the trap until Lil Shaq out (free Lil Shaq)
And Doc got this shit hot, the opps keep callin', tryna cop out (Red dot)
And 30 Poppa wet up niggas' blocks, he keep his mop out (baow, baow, baow, baow, baow)
And Capo in the gambling house, still tryna sit his shot down (four-five-six)
And Donnie somewhere dishin' out that dog, he got a whole pound (he got a whole piz)
It's easy money, exactly what it is, exactly how it sound (exactly what it is)
Him and Freaky sneaky for a reason, it's a lot of pounds (freaky keep the heat)
Quiet, gotta keep it down (shh)
Bitch, moving discreetly now (yeah, yeah)
But all of us get off and got it on us when you see us out (they ain't know us)
You ain't help your people out (nah)
Put food in your people's mouth (you ain't never did that)
Haters hate, the real can vouch, I'm everything I'm rappin' 'bout (yeah, yeah, big Gee, nigga)

Gangatroni (gang)
Ridin' round in the rental, tryna spank your homie (niggas know what's up with me, nigga, gang)
Thirty pokin' out my pockets, this shit can't be folded (EST, ABM, FAO, gang, ayy, man)
Thirty underneath this rocket, Russell Westbrook, homie (gang, yeah)
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang (con gang)
Gangatroni (gang)
Ridin' round in the rental, tryna spank your homie (niggas know who started this gang shit, gang)
Thirty pokin' out my pockets, this shit can't be folded
(Newberg, you repping something me and my niggas started, gang)
Thirty underneath this rocket, Russell Westbrook, homie (yeah, gang)
Gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Writer(s): George Stone III, Jeffrey Lynn Jones Jr.
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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