Talk My **** (Clean) - Hustle Gang/Peanut Da Don/Trae Tha Truth/Young Dro

Written by：Djuan Hart/Frazier Thompson/Adam Williams/Elliot Stroud

Your crew ain't no killers your hittas ain't hit sh*t

What's your body count n**ga y'all n**gas don't live that sh*t

All these extended clips them sick dicks

Every n**ga made my hit list got scratched off like quick pick

You're not a gangsta you're a crook

Put down a gun get a book

You're just a diamond with some fire that's why your shooting don't look

Smile soldier no train

Then Ikea get hit

Sucker living in the rep that's why your wig get split

They say they some shooters I don't believe these n**gas

They say they some hittas well I don't need these hittas

Nah I don't need these hittas they gong turned me into a killer

Tryna flush 'em like a shitter fire coming through your pillow

Bet I make a n**ga quit 150 in the stick

I'm just tryna get ya fixed put this all up in ya mix

Anywhere I go I'm piped down play with tha truth and get wiped down

If I go to beef and I bite down pull up on ya black out like it's lights down

Ski mask and a driver gun checking for a coast

Let them young ins go to work they just here to get ya

Why you playing with a boss you ain't graduate the corner

Keep it moving in a new whip truckle beat you to a coma

Get your b**ch cuz I was on her head shot now she a dormer

When I'm done I'm getting lost sorry for you I'm a loner

I don't care bout 'em I finesse 'em every diamond on me random

Gang flier then a jet I just need a place to land em

I got a stick let it hit

I'm finna talk my sh*t

Run up on me get brrr

Holes all in your fit

Run up on me get hit

Let me talk my sh*t

Bet I talk with the stick

I ain't tryna hear sh*t

Air it out to my man con I'm a s***t y'all and some

When I pull up with a stick we gong hold you for ransom

My gun shaking hold me

Like I got a nose bleed

Bukuboobukuboobooboomboom

Like PAC n**ga you can't hold me

Tryna turn up on me get shot in the mouth

We ain't playing b**ch not in the south

I k**l ya outside and not in the house

I got respect for your momma but not your spouse

I tie that b**ch up and R**e her too

B**ch show me the bricks the boy got an account

Twenty two in ya stomach and b**ch running a leg

Keep squirming around and get one in the head

Boy I'm gong out you I don't nothing 'bout you

It's hustle gang you don't care bout who

Bout to pull quick cuz y'all ain't doing sh*t

I load the machine gun up out you

Brrrr brr brr brr pa pa pa ya feel me

I got a stick let it hit

I'm finnan talk my sh*t

Run up on me get brrr

Holes all in your fit

Run up on me get hit

Let me talk my sh*t

Bet I talk with the stick

I ain't tryna hear sh*t

I got a stick let it hit

I'm finnan talk my sh*t

Run up on me get brrr

Hoes all in your fit

Run up on me get hit

Let me talk my sh*t

Bet I talk with the stick

I ain't tryna hear sh*t