Goons Gone Wild Ft. Ar-Ab - Meek Mill

Tre pound, crack crown

Meek Milly, Bloodhound

Grimy, thirsty, 'bout it you heard me

Glizzy on de-deck

Clip whole thirty

Looking for these fuck boys to do these niggas dirty

Ya play tough I dare you

My goons, they balloon shit air you

Nah nigga I ain’t trying to hear you

And I don’t need no four pound cause I ain’t trying to scare you

I just take the nina raw, get up on you near you

Action 40 lightning bloody near you, tear you

My niggas be riding low

Tinted with them choppers though

We spin yo block my Mr. Softee, spot you like a domino

Simon say he want you dead, I say that you got to go

So we gone drop some shit on you Geronimo, asap

Make that nigga Diddy bop take that, take that

Send him on a trip without a space pack, bow

My hood like goons gone wild

Where Ernie said he don’t want no beef he want a cow

A fool with them tools we don’t even let him touch them

Get freaky with them heaters he be trying to finger fuck them

Niggas creeping in my main yard, peeking through the window

Bird hunting like the gun game on Nintendo

Wish that I was there I probably would’ve let them in though

And stretch one of them nigga like a limo

Trying score a touchdown, nigga fuck around and catch an INO

Cause I ain’t never go to sleep n-o, nizzaw

Can’t get behind me cause my back to the wizal

Gat in my drizzaws, ready to clap izzoff

They gon' murder me so I got to murder them first

And I gon' kill his brother cousin, him first

Give them niggas brim work, chest work

They say that that’s the best work

So I’m gon' gun them down like an expert, tise

Aiming at chu and my mac gon' sneeze

My refrigerator put you on freeze

Fuck out of here

We do them niggas right and get up out of there

Same place you put your hat my niggas throwing hollows there

I’m loading up the oo-wop

Listening to 2Pac

I’m a dope boy so the money in the shoe box

A hundred grand large, all off of hard

I don’t fuck with rappers all y’all frauds

Calling all cars, AR-AB got a gun

Crack in the bag cause AR-AB got a son

And he got to eat, by any means

I got two fiends, fuck a hoop dream

Make it to the NBA that’s a pipe dream

They end up smoking rock out of pipe screen

I play the night scene, hard rock pitching

Forty-four with the long nose Scott Pippen

I put it on the line, I put it on my mom

I’ve been shooting niggas since they put it in my palm

Put it in my hands, them cooked up grams

Where I’m from all the drug dealers was the man

So fuck a rap buzz, I got a rap sheet

I’m a legend in jail, and trap streets

Cass an Swizz like, «AB, juss chill!»

You just beat a body and you still trying to kill

They talking to a deaf man, forty in my left hand

Give a nigga wig shots then look for the next man

I shoot 'til the tec jam, then pass

A lord take my soul if AR-AB

Trying to rob AR-AB niggas asking to die

Last nigga tried I was booking that five

Years in the cell, I called my little brother

He hit both witness, then I got acquitted

I wave one hand and my niggas tilt heads

I tell them break a leg I ain’t talking show biz

I talking your kids, I make them show ribs

My gun so big it take his whole head