Glizock (Core)
(Let the band play)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah

Ayy
Still on that gang shit, no lame shit, no, I can't trust a thot (uh-uh)
I'm paper chasin', my bank big, you can tell just by these rocks (bling)
You know I pop shit, I talk shit, 'cause I gets a lot of guap
You know my neck and wrist is real water, yeah, Alkaline and Voss (yeah)
Uh, money, money, money gettin' taller and these choppas we got is the largest
Yeah, Mr. Glock, lil' bitch, I'm the sergeant
You don't really, really, really want problems
Nah, you don't really, really, really want problems
Send you to the gates, nigga, motherfuck a doctor
Choppas on choppas, you don't wanna get chopped up
Who is that? Yeah, it's a goat and a dolphin, uh (yeah)

Choppas on choppas, yeah
Choppas on choppas on choppas on choppas (fire)
Smoke like a Rasta (yeah), my bitch ass fat and so is my pockets (yeah)
Everybody know (what?), I keep a bankroll on me and a rocket
Uh, ain't no leg, no (uh-uh), I'm aimin' straight at your motherfuckin' noggin (fire)
Yeah, yeah, no innocent bystanders, I hit my target (got 'em)
Keep a chopper in the closet (uh)
I brought my fire in the party (uh)
Wear Chrome Heart like Ed Hardy (damn)
Promethazine, it got me nodded (damn)
Baby, look just like a goddess (bad)
But I don't give a fuck 'cause I'm heartless, yeah, yeah (what the fuck?)

Uh, I'll never change 'cause I'm just too solid (yeah)
Stuck in my ways, got a pistol in the party (yeah)
Dumb, dumb money, I'm goin' retarded
I'm havin' my way and they say I'm toxic
I'm straight off the block, I ain't never had a wallet (uh-uh)
Two straps on me, yeah, Drake and Josh (bah-bah)
Ayy, shout-out to my opps (yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, middle fingers to the cops (yeah)
These niggas hatin' on the kid (what?), tell these niggas stop (yeah)
I told my teacher, "When I grow up, I wanna be like Glock"
Now it's a couple years later, bitch, look at your boy
I just pulled up in that Lambo truck, nearly fucked my door
Bitch, I get that dough, I get that dough, I can get a new one
These bitches and these haters know what's up, yeah, they know it's up (Glizzock)
I be throwin' bullets just like Brady, come and catch a slug

Throwin' bullets just like Brady, throwin' bullets just like Brady
Fry your ass like some bacon, fry your ass just like some bacon (bah)
Seen him on the E-way, flipped him, now I don't think he gon' make it
Now I ain't the type of nigga to ask for shit 'cause I'ma take it
At my spizzot, countin' mula, bitches walkin' around naked
Remember I used to share my clothes with my cousin, I used to hate it (damn)
I went, found me a plug (run it up), motherfuck that paycheck (fuck all of that)
Everyday I wake up (what?), I'm like, "Where that cake at?"

Copyright: EMPIRE PUBLISHING, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Adolph Thornton Jr., Markeyvius Cathey