Can I Git Bucc (feat. Daz Dillinger & Crooked I)

Yes, yes yall,yes yes yall, yes, yes, yes, yes,yall

Yes yes yall, yes yes yall, yes, yes, yes, yes,yall

We got some people on the microphone here tonight

They coming to give you to you rough, rugged, and raw

You know that westcoast feel, yea (All that shit)

Watch out its creep to, what the fuck can he do

Slowly but surely death gun comes to greet you

Fuck a posse homeboy, I run with a gang

Blasting **** for anything, looking sneaky, looking strange

Me and my capos from the pass kick gas

Smoke a pound of grass every doubt about cash

Glocks, ski mask, we be on a mash

Clush crash so don't even try to ask

I'm rough, roughed, and raw, and what you seen you just saw

What happen when dat **** daz, on the mic rappin

I take control and move you body and soul

With just one 'ho', I move the crowd with a flow

Can I get bucc, Can I get bucc

To all my homies and my ridaz who don't give a fuck

Who acting to tough, and acting to rough

Come around here ****, get bucc

You mother fuckers in action

We blast **** for asking the ghetto fab satisfaction

Barrel directed to your bone marrow, hit cha

Infiltrated to get cha, damage yo completed vanish til you can't manage

Its the gangstas and pimps with heated clips

You can't hide during the day, we like Gladys Knight like Pips

Mashing on these **** for chips

If you wanna ride dip, like these Rus and Rips should

Throw up your hood, its all good

**** what, gangsta anemic stripe

Super posting, with a thirty-eight heated up in my holster

Blasting who ever stop from rocking coast to coasting

I burn and roast a **** who figure that

When you pull out a strap we ain't right, where my gangstas at (Right Here)

Show up to blow up your block

Out for the cream like the crop

I tell these **** don't stop

Can I get bucc, Can I get bucc

To all my mother fucking ridaz who don't give a fuck

Who acting to tough, and acting to rough

Come around here ****, get bucc

To all of my **** that couldn't crack britches

Staking riches, dipping something vicious

Tapping switches, macking and cracking bitches

This rapping business is phony as hell

So I'ma ride until they throw me an L

Like all of the homies in jail

I'm gun cocking, concocting shocking plots, so I can clock a knot

Hit the spot with my trunk knocking

Drop tops is the what this poppa pushes

Bearing more arms than octopuses

Gauges and Glocks in bushes

Ready to start the conflict

You off chronic, I'm off atomic energy

Literally, thinking of the bomb shit

Mob wit me, don't mash alone

A chaperone, hoes who love to blow on bones like a saxophone

And when **** think they Al Kapone

It only takes three steps, draw, squeeze, shoot, you gone

Who am I crooked i, who are they daz and soopafly

On the rooper high, stay true to my click

Can I get bucc, Can I get bucc

To all my mother fucking ridaz who don't give a fuck

Who acting to tough, and acting to rough

Come around here ****, get bucc