[VERSE 1: MR.COATHANGER]
This time it's different, I'm runnin like I'm in the Olympics
Im comin' after you, gunnin' you down with hollow tips
Extended clip on my hip for the fo’ fifth
There's expectations in this clique here’s the rubric
All you gotta do is respect the crew bitch
Why you backin' down? Gotta rearrange your tactics
We just be chillin' getting higher then a fork lift
You count your money thinking you a mathematician
Come threw the front door n kill you in your kitchen
You probably should of listened
Then you wouldn’t be sinkin'
What the fuck was you thinking
Rest in the open, rest in the ocean
You forever floatin, constantly in motion
My lyrics are potent, make the track have 4 kids
And you already know bitch back to the slow shit
Pour me another fo’ I sip it until its gone
Sit back chillin' I'm a villain on the low
And I get it from the women that be dealin' on the low
Click clack nina and the heater go BOW
And it shoot so loud that it wake the whole town
In the middle of the crowd with a body on the ground
Like…. Wow
Point the gun to the people that be standin' in my way
Run faster then I ever have, I gotta get away
Find a place that I can stay
Camp out for a couple days
Occasionally come out to blaze
Fuck it, I been chillin' for a while now
Comin' out from hidin' I gotta different style now
BUT I didn’t really wanna murder the competition and
AND I didn’t stick the script that I been keepin' but
I’m pretty sure in the long run people will listen
This Mr.Coathanger n' I'm out so quit ya bitchin'

[VERSE 2: JESSE TURVEY]
I know you probably won't like this shit
But you better get to knowin' it just like your kid
Better get to knowin' it just like your bitch
We be racin' to the top paving roads and shit
Soon to be ownin' most of things thats important
When it comes to my flow its ocean
I'm Swimmin' in thoughts of potent
I'm Barely sleeping on the regular it's terrible
I Never pictured shit like this without a camera
I'm smokin' cereal bowls
Man that shit go Snap, Crackle, Pop !
When I'm punchin the cones
It's no boxing' I get the shit poppin'
Mayweather you like it or not this is dropping
With your body hit the ground
Ya I saw that shit around the fuckin' corner
Mr.Coathanger shot ya down
You hear the round, fear the scream
Fear the sound
I ain't even got a heater but the furnace pretty loud
The beat a heater a theoretical heater
I recommend a vest if this is come in out of your speakers
And I ain't even conceited
Believe in the weed I breathe
And I see that we could be be doin' it better than all the veterans
Ya, we cross the line like we Mexican
No boarder rhymes on the low, I'm an alien
Probably got a ufo in my mouth
It's that Blunt Force Trauma, we smoking you out
Got a hand full of grams and we handin' them out
Because music is a drug and that's what I'm all about
POPPER GANG