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letra de dogs - gaeng

[saek]
sh-t teeth bad posture and a middle finger
i leave ’em with the type of taste that tend to f-cking linger
my paint tolerance is bordering on masochism
leave my set with a quiet crowd and stabbing victim
can you make it quick? i’ve got some sh-t to do
up in nathan jay’s mercedes in a parking lot at two
hop up out the whip, two straps like a jansport
on the bright side he ain’t gotta pay his landlord
(stop the dogs from barkin, then proceed to walk in)
his crummy -ss apartment, check the fridge i’m starving
lit swisher in my shaky -ss hand
cup to the brim with some contraband
i play the vodka with that oj, pour up
i only trust ’em ’bout as far as i can throw up
oe in the middle of rain
zaeko and saek, ae in the middle of gaeng, let’s go

[bishop malik]
yo we the type to turn enemies into origami
and fill tommy guns with salami shooting meat at your mommy
lace all the endo with s-xual innuendo
i’m calling out to your kinfolk, most of my sh-t has been spoke, so
next up is pops who is parked in the parking lot
waiting up for the one he calls son, sicced him with barking dogs, and
hopped in the benz with nathan jay and the gaeng
sipping orenthal james and vodka, we be white women slaying
i mean i’m playing, but test the best and get f-cked
my patience is running thin and then you’ll be destined for dust
at best you’ll be left for dead, left with the pestilence puss
we be the best and i can tell you won’t be messing with us
lessen the stress, chop off your head, pay you some severance, blood
never been bitter, but the thought of you tastes sicker than nut, what’s up?
f-ck with us, not even fit for food for the dogs
just food for thought next time you think that we be less than some gods, bruh gaeng

[kell]
cocaina on my fingers got meters of nose sweeters
and ether, and the heater, sh-t that i don’t need to
talk about, sh-t, i thought it out
cops shouting’ freeze but i’m thawed out, so eat your f-cking heart out
or i’ll get my dogs to do it, k e double hockey sticks
the name that makes you wanna hawk and spit, talk my motherf-ckin’ sh-t
like i’m bout it, rowdy, you can hear me shout it
at the top of my lungs like, i f-ckin’ doubt it
you ain’t learn to stand out, and all you take is handouts
and all i take is what i want, how my life planned out
how my life been lived, homie you ain’t been sh-t
you corny, mushy, and a f-ckin’ b-tch, like grits
got three for them zits up on your face, pop
got two straps in my waistbands, glocks
and i’ve been on one, you can hear ’em yell “stop!”
count to zero, got them chewing’ off your face; dogs

[zaeko]
nice teeth straight back and i’ll break your finger
the only taste that tend to linger’s from your fake demeanor
so stop the stage cuz i just wanna be man-o-war
bodies on my lawn and oh look it it’s my land lord
yo i’m the type to turn everyone into jeffrey fahmer
loaded up on drugs and killed my friends way to nirvana
the best i had to guess but i’m still standin up
say your gods, backwards dogs but why you barkin like a pup
cocaina pourin fill my candy cane socks
shocked when the cops shout freeze, i froze em off
three, two, one please smile before you drop
zero break yo mirror carve your face up like a dog
now i’m gunnin while i run inside the benz
paint the roses paintin posies paint it all stain red
it’s a pretty bit of pestilence your barkin at the knees
i believe i’m optimistic, click, flash, say cheeze

- gaeng

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