Hazy Mercer

Fucking With My pistol off for safety, it's too late to Try to freak my seventeen round gauge Nigga spill Fluid on your chest while you running, no escape With the troopers on my back 'bout to go To war Killing the sky, ghost surprise enemies, Twenty degrees Got my four things in the air, Chop him like a flying D Hit your brain The bullet, deep sleep Niggas ready crooked type Pull up on the back Slide street to the Street, niggas have a knack Skinny, skinny brown and My nigga yellow, ever clear with the prayer Hands Down on the chrome for the fact Haters full Of hate when I'm on a mission looking for A lemon Tryna hustle on a motherfucking tree Lay Him on his chest and I motherfucking slur like A thug Full of trouble then I leave the Slug red