[Intro]
The Street Smartz clique
For all you gun loving motherfuckers
For all you gat packers

[Verse 1: Fuc That]
Niggas should call me an army because I bomb beats
With nothing but thoughts that's concrete
With a brain that's charming
Puff a lot of buddha
Son I gots to shoot ya plus bust the ruger
To stop the future like a prosecutor
That's my specialty, I'm not a rap star or celebrity
Step to me, I'll leave his life in jeopardy, like leprosy (for real)
While there's a lot of others fronting
They make me want to smother something that have nothing but have motherfucking brothers busting
More and more, I was raw before with hardcore literature, metaphors galore
(You don't gotta guess what happened) Cuz when I'm done rapping
(Your only thoughts is gun clapping) none slapping
(And crumb snatching)
Infra sizer, with my crew I'm an improviser
My mental's liver than any gimmick or a synthesizer

[Hook]
Ain't no burner like the one I got
(No gun can bust you better)
Jam sometimes, but a less off a lot
(4 pounds, tec 9s, beretta)
Friends tell me I should leave it a home
(Nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh, nuh uh)
Tell them fools to get a gat of they own
(A gat of they own, a gat of they own)

[Verse 2: Fuc That]
F bombs is penetrating, with fire arms disintegrating
Bullet proof raps making your shots non-irritating
Fuck the nation, bitch you don't know what you facing, lacing
These pussy punks get punctured by my punctuation
The way you hear my shit, I bet you head'll swing
Cuz it's a ghetto thing, where we pack metal things just to settle things
Or you real motivators know the flavor
Because I release my vocal anger, whether you a star, or a total stranger
I got a murder esophagus, with knowledge through inoculate
All I see is officers and photographers
(This is for all the rappers that can't demonstrate)
Always anticipated to hear how my verbs is situated
You sleeping but you don't know me pervert
All of your homies heard it
Raps you shocked, like ? white he's after the OJ verdict
It's FT, and I'll let my shots wet you
Niggas is catching hot levels from the red dot special

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Syxshooter]
Partner the way I display my lyrical skills will fuck you up
Stepping in my path I'll buck you up
Because this style ain't nothing nice plus I'm down for whatever
Busting four pounds of better
I advice you cowards to keep your heads up
Because my beretta, you niggas more than wounded
When my mind is polluted with the essence of the buddha
Phony rappers get bruised, I'm trying to fuck wit FT and Syx shooter
Because Street Smartz in the mix, nine-six
So all you lame brain rappers talking that so called live shit
Get up with six grill and face the wrath of my nine clip
A bad boy, since I came from mama dukes
Plus I like to shoot guns, I'm blasting if you front
So what you want for? what you want for?
So pass the motherfucking ? the bone
I spray to wound any intruder in my circumference
You that of an enemy, punctured by bullets when my guns bust
I've never been a law-abiding citizen
True criminal doing anything to get the ends

[Hook]

[Outro]
Yeah
I got the motherfucking Street Smartz clique up in here
No doubt
(FT)
Tru Criminal Records, nahmsaying?
Peace to Jay-Z, and all that
Nahmean? nahmsaying, for all you gun lovers
Packing gats, all you pistol whippers
Glock cockers, block lockers