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Who you know fresher than Heemy, riddle me that The rest of y’all know where he is spiritually at Lyrically liquor shot, like he’s spit from a gat But I don’t glorify that, I dwell in the trap Louisville Kentucky, with drawing in the slammer Coke Boys t-shirt, dead like Osama Osama, oh mama, sorry for all the drama But you taught me bout the guala, told me to be bout commas Hi haters, our guns from Al Qaeda Naysayers, see you now or get you later [?] Taliban and Dipset, Taliban is Herman And alley man likes Spanish but German for certain Our guns aren’t squirting, Trap-istan, we put our funds to work Murk them, heat under kurta when we hurt them 6 feet deep, we put him under the dirt, dead You do work, you get work You do dirt, you get dirt You fuck around, with these boys No question, you get murked Hi haters, our guns from Al Qaeda Naysayers, see you now or get you later Hi haters, our guns from Al Qaeda Naysayers, see you now or get you later Letras de cancionesThis for [?], simple dangers, toting [?] under the register And all illegal aliens, it’s them that never registered I’m back on my old shit, baby I’m still Heems Still gooning with the Guyanese out in Richmond Hill, Queens I might move to the mountains out in Pakistan Until my own government will drop a bomb But you won’t hear about it in no news clip Mommy they move quick, that’s just how they do shit You do work, you get work You do dirt, you get dirt You fuck around, with these boys No question, you get murked You do work, you get work You do dirt, you get dirt You fuck around, with these boys No question, you get murked USA, USA, USA, USA [x3] USA, U From Letras Mania