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letra de ain't no burna - f.t.

[intro]
the street smartz clique
for all you gun loving motherf-ckers
for all you gat packers

[verse 1: fuc that]
n-ggas should call me an army because i bomb beats
with nothing but thoughts that’s concrete
with a brain that’s charming
puff a lot of buddha
son i gots to shoot ya plus bust the ruger
to stop the future like a prosecutor
that’s my specialty, i’m not a rap star or celebrity
step to me, i’ll leave his life in jeopardy, like leprosy (for real)
while there’s a lot of others fronting
they make me want to smother something that have nothing but have motherf-cking brothers busting
more and more, i was raw before with hardcore literature, metaphors galore
(you don’t gotta guess what happened) cuz when i’m done rapping
(your only thoughts is gun clapping) none slapping
(and crumb sn-tching)
infra sizer, with my crew i’m an improviser
my mental’s liver than any gimmick or a synthesizer

[hook]
ain’t no burner like the one i got
(no gun can bust you better)
jam sometimes, but a less off a lot
(4 pounds, tec 9s, beretta)
friends tell me i should leave it a home
(nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh)
tell them fools to get a gat of they own
(a gat of they own, a gat of they own)

[verse 2: fuc that]
f bombs is penetrating, with fire arms disintegrating
bullet proof raps making your shots non-irritating
f-ck the nation, b-tch you don’t know what you facing, lacing
these p-ssy punks get punctured by my punctuation
the way you hear my sh-t, i bet you head’ll swing
cuz it’s a ghetto thing, where we pack metal things just to settle things
or you real motivators know the flavor
because i release my vocal anger, whether you a star, or a total stranger
i got a murder esophagus, with knowledge through inoculate
all i see is officers and photographers
(this is for all the rappers that can’t demonstrate)
always antic-p-ted to hear how my verbs is situated
you sleeping but you don’t know me pervert
all of your homies heard it
raps you shocked, like ? white he’s after the oj verdict
it’s ft, and i’ll let my shots wet you
n-ggas is catching hot levels from the red dot special

[hook]

[verse 3: syxshooter]
partner the way i display my lyrical sk!lls will f-ck you up
stepping in my path i’ll buck you up
because this style ain’t nothing nice plus i’m down for whatever
busting four pounds of better
i advice you cowards to keep your heads up
because my beretta, you n-ggas more than wounded
when my mind is polluted with the essence of the buddha
phony rappers get bruised, i’m trying to f-ck wit ft and syx shooter
because street smartz in the mix, nine-six
so all you lame brain rappers talking that so called live sh-t
get up with six grill and face the wrath of my nine clip
a bad boy, since i came from mama dukes
plus i like to shoot guns, i’m blasting if you front
so what you want for? what you want for?
so p-ss the motherf-cking ? the bone
i spray to wound any intruder in my circ-mference
you that of an enemy, punctured by bullets when my guns bust
i’ve never been a law-abiding citizen
true criminal doing anything to get the ends

[hook]

[outro]
yeah
i got the motherf-cking street smartz clique up in here
no doubt
(ft)
tru criminal records, nahmsaying?
peace to jay-z, and all that
nahmean? nahmsaying, for all you gun lovers
packing gats, all you pistol whippers
glock c-ckers, block lockers

- f t

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