Ramirez Blunt To My Lip Lyrics

[Intro: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 1: Ramirez]
Pull up to your mammy house, I put yo' family straight to sleep
Ridin' with the duster by my side, I'm 'bout to sweep the streets
Tell them hoes the score was murder when I hit their f*ckin' town
'Tato tip all on that bitch so that they don't make no sound
It's the Grey*59, step inside the Columbine
Where you witness your demise and this throne will still be mine
Grey Gorilla, MAC-9, make your heart flatline
Speaking 'bout my f*ckin' clique, buckle up and throw down
[Bridge: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 2: Fat Nick]
Oh shit, here we go, these Percs and Xans, I'm feelin' low We skrrt the Porsche, the engine blow, I been too rich, now watch me glow
Draco twitch, now watch me empty out a clip
Shoot, shoot, shoot, bet your luck I'll hit your shit
VVS my neck, dripped out to my wrist
Where the hunnid, hunnid, hunnid, smoke is in a brick
I got too much on me, that's why your bitch, she want me
Iced out, all gold, hear the boy froze

[Bridge: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips

[Verse 3: Ramirez]
Watchin' for the police 'cause they always tryna catch me, mane
A 2-11 in progress, I'm 'bout to rob this sucka out his shit
Tie him up and tape his mouth, told this bitch, "Don't make no sound"
Throw that busta in the trunk, 'bout to take him hellbound
Out the grave, you can't kill what's dead, I like my rum bloody red
My souvenir; this sucka head, and in the water's where he dread
Servin' up that hot lead, I like the shotty 'cause it spread
f*ckin' with the Killa, promise by the end, you'll be dead
[Outro: Project Pat]
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips