Paraphernalia ft. Torro Lyrics

Ah

Ah

My dog a shooter, I can't get his ass to chill

So I just tell him keep his head up in that wheel

And shoot for 30 on them drills

Traumatized by them times in the field

Was doing pad drills

Brodie hit a head every drill

They say he mad skilled

Yeah, he got mad skills

Yeah, he got mad kills

Fighting for his soul

Popping perkies like they Advils

Like they Advils

All we know is death, death to the opps

Never had a ref but them techs never stopped

I can't tell if this bitch wanting sex or a drop

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks

All we know is death, death to the opps

Never had a ref but them techs never stopped

I can't tell if this bitch wanting sex or a drop

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks, Ugh

Ahh, it's a cold city

Paraphernalia on my side like it's sewn in me

Know they wanna see me die like the old fifty

And I can't let these niggas cheat me out my spot

Yeah that bitch a dime but I treat her like she not

Yeah this shit a nine but it keep like thirty shots

These titties double D but I don't keep them in the bra

Bitch I keep them in the Glock

We spinning every day

We caught em on that corner, bullets hit from every way

Yeah, bullets hit from every way

I call lil Brodie, Kevin, he put seven in your face

Yeah

Ahh

My dog a shooter, I can't get his ass to chill

So I just tell him keep his head up in that wheel

And shoot for thirty on them drills, yeah

Beams on the FNs

My shooter beat a body, Said he tryna catch a second

The ruger getting sloppy, I might swap it for a Smith & Wesson

A lethal weapon

I'm riding around niggas section, ain't no one present

Wrap a nigga up, we been sending them straight to heaven

A thug like Makaveli

I'm tryna hit a nigga taco, have him leaking relish

The devil keep on tryna take me, got me speaking hellish

I tell the feds, ain't hear a thing and I ain't see a motherfucker, Helen Keller

This little bitch fiending, she'll buy whatever you sell her

And I can't trust a nigga, believe whatever you tell him

Cause he'll be the one telling, yeah, he'll be the one to tell it

All we know is death, death to the opps

Never had a ref but them techs never stopped

I can't tell if this bitch wanting sex or a drop

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks, Ugh

Ahh, it's a cold city

Paraphernalia on my side like it's sewn in me

Know they wanna see me die like the old fifty

Homie hit me with a game plan, I'm like what's the mission

Niggas bitchin', knowing that we prone to get shit missing

Keep a nine on me just in case I feel any tension

I keep mine on me cause I might just leave some shit twitching

I play by the rules, bitches, I play by the group

Only in the coupe, so they lap it up since I'm the troop

Cuban link just like a noose, in the war, it ain't no truce

Ain't hitting niggas in they body, hope that ski-z bulletproof

They booked Brodie for a body, know he gone and told his dukes

Booked Brody for so long, he won't be home till 7-2

Lately I been on them beans, lately I been on them blues

I'm tryna get my weight up, my cake up like bakers do

Niggas can't face us, we Lakers, we come to hoop

Ain't no chasing cause they follow us and do say what we do

Call us makers cause this shit we making incredible

Hit his face up like it was makeup, he never knew

Ah, and this shit won't stop

Nigga keep capping, we gon' hit him in his top

Nigga keep flagging, it ain't white, then we won't stop

All this shit that I be packing, it'll make a nigga drop

All the shit that I be tagging, they remember, it's a lot

Putting belt to ass, whooping shit just like a lot

How you saying fuck 12 when you know that you the cops

All these drugs, paraphernalia, I see lights and I won't stop

All we know is death, death to the opps

Never had a ref but them techs never stopped

I can't tell if this bitch wanting sex or a drop

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks

Beams on the FNs, and switches on the Glocks, Ugh

Ahh, it's a cold city

Paraphernalia on my side like it's sewn in me

Know they wanna see me die like the old fifty

Ah

Ahh, ah

My dog a shooter, I can't get his ass to chill

So I just tell him keep his head up in that wheel

And shoot for 30 on them drills

Ahh, ah

Ahh, ah

Ahh, ah