[Intro: WARA]
Aha, 'bout to take this to a whole 'nother level (Bombs away!)
Yeah (Aha), bombs away, it's about to get ugly, real ugly

[Verse 1: WARA]
Yeah, spit flame
Soon as a n***a drop I gotta switch lanes
Ain't a damn thing changed but
The lining inside a jacket, it's perfect timing
The new assignment is kill rappers and whole crews
You old news, we ain't even surfin' through your channel
For you small [?], the [?] purpose underneath the flannel
Trust me, it do damage, but I rather keep the peace and only lift my fingers if the bitch could teach me Spanish
You speak my language?
Can you manage the pain that this came with
The reason why he's so sick?
No question, it's some lessons in my sixteens (Yeah)
You dissect it, I'm just here to lay out my dreams ([?])
They left the kid for dead, I'm here to chalk the crime scene
Uh-huh, n***a, tune in, yeah
They left the kid for dead, I'm here to chalk the crime scene
Bombs away, motherfuckers, make room

[Chorus: WARA & GRIP]
Okay, I'm back off in this bitch, and you already know it (Woah)
I got the bomb in my palms, and I ain't tryna blow it
Do we gotta take it there? Do I gotta show it? (Uh-huh)
N***as ain't playin' fair, okay, my shit reloadin'
Okay, I'm back off in this bitch, and you already know it
I got the bomb in my palms and I ain't tryna blow it (Uh)
Do we gotta take it there? Do I gotta show it? (Yeah)
N***as ain't playin' fair (GRIP), okay, my shit reloadin'
[Verse 2: GRIP]
I been at it since [?] and [?], sharpin' my blade, life was my sensei
Now, gotta get this rent paid, how?
I'ma let this pen spray like Lysol, n***as bark hard but they bite soft
I could shed you some shine if your lights' off
Got it wrapped like a python, but I'll spit it like a cobra
I got one chance to really get to live 'fore life is over
No hyperbole, harass rappers verbally, you "Ass" backwards
You ain't heard of me, homie?
Hail from the place where they murder for money
They lock us up, and they serve us baloney
Or PBJ, outside look like GTA
And they ain't turnin' on they TVs for no T. D. Jakes
A love for hip-hop, GRIP like Hitchcock with blood in the Ziplock
Glocks snuggle my hip, mud on my flip-flops
Straight out them trenches like guerilla warfare
Jumped off the porch there, don't you explore there
I repped the [?], the have-not
A n***a with a ski mask on should be the mascot
You either get your three stacks on and hit the last shot
Or use your tube sock to stash rocks
And lil' n***as on the creep, so you can get your cap peeled quick
N***as say "R.I.P" and spill liq', the killswitch