Still Got My Gun Songtext
Square peg in a round hole
I learned to do my dirt on the down low
Had to make some moves that would sound bold
But in that same dirt, I had found gold
So they label me a scoundrel
Guess I had a ruffle a couple feathers on my way up
But I'm a hustler
I didn't give a fuck if I gotta harm ya or muscle ya
I been armed with the tools that we use in the trade of a renegade
Thrive in a game, you're not able to penetrate
I'm not the same as you, I'm tried and true
This is something I died to do
Part of learning how to fly
Eventually, you hit the ground, crashin'
But at the bottom of the pain
I had found passion
Though I been gone for a minute
Now I'm back in it
We either overcome the past or get trapped in it
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
Violently designed like the Trolls of Asgard
Silencers the size of a grown man's arm
Listen, the scope pivot like a cyclops
Chrome so heavy the shooter had to use a tripod (Bong!)
The pistol long like a pool stick
Hammer hit the hollow like a baby in the womb kick
Listen, visual verb, missile swerve, hit your herbs
Feel the pistol burn, hit you like a whistling bird
All it take is half a shotty for half your body to fly a half a block at your fuckin' block party
Pussy, your every word have a period
Your album comes with a free bo of tampons for serious
My lyricism's the littyiest
Carry the torch for Brooklyn like Sean P and Biggie did
My demographic be Henny and Acid
My algorithms are savage and my religion is madness
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
Boko Haram, stay calm, strapped with a bomb
Behind the mask of God, he can trap the divine
I got numbers and statistics, it's a matter of time
Imma hit him with the .50 paw, Shaq at the line
And them fiends lined up, they be pacin' for days
Had a yopper put a hole inside his cranial cave
How the fuck you gon' walk into a maze in a daze
Muthafuckas being deviant and say it's a phase
This ain't fun and games over here, we make money
And y'all is always gon' be second like Chase Utley
This muthafucka think he the wolf, he the same puppy
It's the same mask, same .45, and the same Duffy
You are goofy homie, we was never meant to be cool
I was taking people's shit in elementary school
Feel it with both hands paw, read it in braille
And the whopper always with me homie, Kenan and Kel
Toma!
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
I learned to do my dirt on the down low
Had to make some moves that would sound bold
But in that same dirt, I had found gold
So they label me a scoundrel
Guess I had a ruffle a couple feathers on my way up
But I'm a hustler
I didn't give a fuck if I gotta harm ya or muscle ya
I been armed with the tools that we use in the trade of a renegade
Thrive in a game, you're not able to penetrate
I'm not the same as you, I'm tried and true
This is something I died to do
Part of learning how to fly
Eventually, you hit the ground, crashin'
But at the bottom of the pain
I had found passion
Though I been gone for a minute
Now I'm back in it
We either overcome the past or get trapped in it
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
Violently designed like the Trolls of Asgard
Silencers the size of a grown man's arm
Listen, the scope pivot like a cyclops
Chrome so heavy the shooter had to use a tripod (Bong!)
The pistol long like a pool stick
Hammer hit the hollow like a baby in the womb kick
Listen, visual verb, missile swerve, hit your herbs
Feel the pistol burn, hit you like a whistling bird
All it take is half a shotty for half your body to fly a half a block at your fuckin' block party
Pussy, your every word have a period
Your album comes with a free bo of tampons for serious
My lyricism's the littyiest
Carry the torch for Brooklyn like Sean P and Biggie did
My demographic be Henny and Acid
My algorithms are savage and my religion is madness
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
Boko Haram, stay calm, strapped with a bomb
Behind the mask of God, he can trap the divine
I got numbers and statistics, it's a matter of time
Imma hit him with the .50 paw, Shaq at the line
And them fiends lined up, they be pacin' for days
Had a yopper put a hole inside his cranial cave
How the fuck you gon' walk into a maze in a daze
Muthafuckas being deviant and say it's a phase
This ain't fun and games over here, we make money
And y'all is always gon' be second like Chase Utley
This muthafucka think he the wolf, he the same puppy
It's the same mask, same .45, and the same Duffy
You are goofy homie, we was never meant to be cool
I was taking people's shit in elementary school
Feel it with both hands paw, read it in braille
And the whopper always with me homie, Kenan and Kel
Toma!
There's a lot of things in life I know
We can go up so high and low
A lot of things I left behind that I once called mine
But I still got my gun
My gun, my gun
I still got my gun
Still Got My Gun Video
