100 Rounds Lyrics

'The twelve gauge, double barreled Remington; come get
[Shawn Wigs]
I got a hundred rounds of sounds, two four pounds
On the floor by the speakers, three nickel bags tucked
deep in the sneaker
Watching the freezer, big chain sweeper hung over the
wife beater
I was born for this poetry shit behind loops

Peak coke reppers and the six hundred coupes
Benz and the Armani wood brain frame
I was born for ya'll muthaf*ckas to know my name
Wiggaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Wigs for short
You gon' find a dig caddy in the port
Range with the born physical, I'm equipped
Banana clip, can't cut it with no mistake
Raps like a soul food plate, crib with the raw onion
Floors with the marble face... rest in peace...

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