BIG30 - Miss My Glock 26 Lyrics

(Mmm, Manny, cook that shit, uh)
Blrrrd, blrrrd, blrrrd
No pad, no pen shit
Blrrrd, blrrrd, blrrrd, blrrrd
Blrrrd, blrrrd, big blrrrd

No postin' on my block, ayy, you either shoppin' or servin'
.357 'cross my lap, just for Mista we purgin'
We whack shit on the scene, you blessed if you made it to surgery
He spoke on Geno, told my hitter, "Go get him, it's urgent"
They put that battery in his back and ain't even slide for him
He sendin' threats from a hospital bed, be quiet boy
Big boy, .45 boy, nine, ten, eleven, my slide toy
Every time right or wrong, this Gucci link my vibe choice

Ayy, if it's smoke then say some'
Get to close, my niggas spray some'
For smokin' Geno, laced him
'Fore he knew it, the member faced him
Boy you were damn near wasted, watch where you drop that location
That ain't my lil' ho or my guy, that's my lil' situation
That my lil' shit
Man, f*ck all that, that my lil' bitch
Louis front, Louis kicks
Exclusive gang, Louis V sticks
Got shot so many times and lived (Smurk), call him lil' 50 Cent
I ain't had a nine and two years, I miss my Glock .26 (grrah, let's get it)

Me and Von was fightin' our case together
The state had to see our face together (gang)
Switches go broom-broom (grrah)
Fifty-thousand to stitch his face together
I don't like Qua', I like Wock'-Wock' in the peach Crush
Because I taste it better (let's get it)
Louis belt with a hoodie to hide my dreads and hold my Drac' together (on gang)
Fightin' over hits, like where he go?
Shit, who chased them better? (Me?)
Can't trust these hoes from nobody hood no more
They backdoor, play together (bitch)
Me, I gotta keep a gun I draw mine low (let's get it)
I gotta keep a fund, these killers 'round me (let's get it)
Ain't never gon' run, if it's up then it's stuck (let's get it)
And that's on my son, nigga (bah)
PPP got you feelin' yourself
That's a Cartier, that ain't no Patek, nigga (pussy)
Tell the truth five-hunnid K, on Pluto grave
I ain't no average nigga (grrah)
We done been through shit inside them trenches
You can't imagine, nigga (let's get it)
I'm with the same niggas
We used to hoop on crates inside them alleys, nigga (man, what? Gang)

No postin' on my block, ayy, you either shoppin' or servin'
.357 'cross my lap, just for Mista we purgin'
We whack shit on the scene, you blessed if you made it to surgery
He spoke on Geno, told my hitter, "Go get him, it's urgent"
They put that battery in his back and ain't even slide for him
He sendin' threats from a hospital bed, be quiet boy
Big boy, .45 boy, nine, ten, eleven, my slide toy
Every time right or wrong, this Gucci link my vibe choice