[Intro]
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It's the 10 gun commandments, what
Yeah
My gun toting n***as
Big ratchet handle (Yeah)
My illegal gun smugglers (Yeah)
See, it don't take much to learn a n***a something
Burn a n***a fast, you fix a n***a behavior real quick
Flickmode bitch

[Verse]
Yeah, I've been in this game for years, I had a whole lot of fun
Because of some of you pussies now I collect a lot of guns
My crib like Discovery channel, all solar planet
Once I palm the ratchet
You and your peeps can catch it
Hombre uno, every time you leave your home
Pack a couple gats and go, yeah you know
You better believe especially me
Would already be in my waistline tucked never giving a fuck
Number 2, in the nighttime hitting the move
Don't you know it's best busting off when silencers are silencers
[?] his whole block
Have n***as shitting their self as soon as they hearing the gun cock
Number 3, best believe I keep the shotty
In the line I'm on the trench, I don't bleed on no park bench
Now your mom [?], fuck the fingerprints
Keep the buckets with the acid
The Glocks they shoot is plastic
Number 4, gun n***as heard this before
Better clean that man before your Glock jammed
Number 5, never bust your gun where you sleep son
Unless you fighting to live or protecting your crib
Number 6, you beat your [?] ankle, give him a sample
Let the MAC rip him in half, make an example
7, if your team pussy don't call 'em
Or [?] on News 11 to be reporting
The death of 2 dumb n***as, died so sudden
While one n***a really deserved it, the other died for nothing
And number 8, don't ever move stupid in broad
Make sure you got you a bitch to bring your gat in the club
Number 9, [?] when you bag your gun real quick
Before a n***a fronting, she in the bathroom with your shit
'Cause once they see you harmless 'cause they know you're armless
I could promise your spirit a lift like it's caught in a harness
Number 10, you make sure you got a long clip
You miss a couple times, it could still shoot a n***a shit
If you ain't got no ammunition, better lay low
'Fore you get clapped while our audience watch you die slow
Follow these rules, keep the ratchet, fuck the knife
Move accurate, plot the rules, add years to your life
Shots burning, it cook the skin, trust me
But leaving him popped first before a n***a bust me
Put bullets where your blunt be
Blood leaking out your ass like bitches on their monthly
It's fucked up the way a son's mother probably cuss me
Gotta bounce, gotta run, then go load my guns B
Ugly