Текст песни Jumped off the porch - Huncho 3timez

Evil thoughts runnin' through my head, i wish them dudes was dead
Stay up out my lane, i'm just tryna get that bread
Mane you speakin' on my clique i'll turn your white shirt red
Ain't beefin' through no gram
I rather do it on sight instead
Hop out with that mop stick in Traffic, and let you pussies fuckin' have it
We toting automatics why you still slang .380s, you a straight bitch
Mane we pull up on your block, and you're gonna meet this 30 clip
I'm ridin' with some real gangstas, so sit your scary ass down
When we creep through your house we won't make no fuckin' sound
Fuck a bitch, flip a brick, do it in the same day
Wish you would try to catch me Lackin', and take my chain
Pull out a .38, you will go and miss your brain
Got pussy dudes dissin' on me for some fuckin' fame
They don't even know my name Yeah they call me Huncho
Do a walk down in the rain, yeah ill wear a poncho
Fuck around, you can get your mind blown
I be ridin' by myself, I don't need no sidekick
Only thing that i got are these hands and this big 30 clip
All the internet thuggin' gonna go and get your crib hit

I told that boy that I'm never lackin' in these streets
You run up on me wrong, put you straight up on that T
I jumped off that porch when I was 16
I grabbed my first stick, yeah, it came with a beam

The block is hot, so I gotta watch how I move
The feds is on my ass, thinkin' I ain't got no clue
Well i'ma up that pole
Young shooter, down to spray
I'm down to put a pussy dude up in his grave
He think we playin' games, till we pull up with this K .762s, we gon' lay him down
You ain't steppin' like me, so you can't fuck with me
If you run up, guaranteed, you ain't touchin' me
Cuz my shooters put your ass to sleep, we put you 6 feet deep
Bust out with them sticks, I'm down to hit a lick
I'm 17 on the block, I'm tryna live rich
I got five bands in my pocket, I'm finna' hit the mall
I wonder if the dude's ever seen the end of a K
Broad day, pull up where he stay, we'll put it to his face
All that fake shit, I ain't with it
You say you a gangsta, then show me that you bout it
We keep automatics, we stay runnin' the south
If you speakin' on my name, then we blowin' you down
I got a 30 in this Mac and I'm down to do a drive-by
Kill you, then your spirit's gonna go sky high

I told that boy that I'm never lackin' in these streets
You run up on me, wrong, put you straight up on that T
I jumped off that porch when I was 16
I grabbed my first stick, yeah, it came with a beam