Lyrics




Like, ugh
Ugh, ugh
Niggas be sweeter than bubblegum
Shini Gang shit, he ain't bro, I ain't trusting him, ugh
I'm with the gang and we troublesome
Mad cause he cannot compare, we a one of one
And that nigga jump stupid, we cutting him
Stopped in his tracks when that Ruger in front of him
Came with a stick, so you know ain't no rushing him
I up the motherfucking choppa, No Russian him
Ugh, came with a stick just like FPSRussia
I'm throwing them shots like I'm beating the buzzer
You niggas be bitch, I put that on my mother
My choppa, might feed it, gon' eat him for supper
And no you cannot hang, you ain't gang or my brother
You niggas don't fit like a piece of the puzzle
And I bet you the K turn his ass to a puddle
I came with a dog like that bitch need a muzzle, ugh
Ugh, still in the back of this bitch
Flipping a switch like a panel
I'm changing the channel if he want the static and shit
He talking shit but can't back it
Want smoke like an addict, I guess I'm asthmatic and shit
It could go up like an attic, ain't being dramatic
I'll make it traumatic and shit
Still in all black in this bitch off rip
Check all the facts, lil bitch I'm him
Doing him sick, nigga shit get grim
Came with a stick and it rip off limbs
Told him get back 'fore you get your ass whacked
Bitch I'm catching his hat, and I aim for the brim
Way that I'm balling, they all lookin dumb
Lil bitch I just might dunk and then hang off the rim, like ugh
With the gang, nigga I don't do friends, like ugh
Takin shots and I aim thru the lens, like ugh
30 rounds and I left with like 10
I might take out his mans, then again it depends, like ugh
Full of hate, I ain't makin amends
And these niggas be bitch, swear they all got me bent
The way I just be snapping, it don't make no sense
And he talk on the gang, he get jumped like a fence, like
And I'm still in the-, you can fill in the blank
And I'm blowing that pack, I stopped feeling my face
And I'm spitting that crack, or the gas, but it's laced
All these niggas be trash, man they all just a waste
Niggas need a new hobby, your shit a disgrace
I feel like Ricky Bobby, I dash to the pape'
And the chop do him sloppy, I turn him to paste
Send him back to the lobby, yeah he get erased
Niggas be sweeter than bubblegum
Shini Gang shit, he ain't bro, I ain't trusting him, ugh
I'm with the gang and we troublesome
Mad cause he cannot compare, we a one of one
And that nigga jump stupid, we cutting him
Stopped in his tracks when that Ruger in front of him
Came with a stick, so you know ain't no rushing him
I up the motherfucking choppa, No Russian him



Writer(s): Anthony Leonard Catalanotto, Decimh, Yung Flex Copyright: Fony Wallace


Yung Flex - RAP MUSIC
Album RAP MUSIC
date of release
09-01-2026

1   BONUS!
2   NO RUSSIAN
3   STUNT
4   DOGFOOD
5   DEVILCRY
6   HIT UP FONY
7   SNAPPIN



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