Admiral Greets General by Sean Price Lyrics
[Verse 1: Sean Price]
Rags to riches and riches to rags nigga
The bag with the shit got shit on the bag nigga
Bag on my hip, pop spit up your mask nigga
Mad little bitch drop the fist to your ass nigga
My gift of gab is a gift from the Gods
The God given talent I'm spitting is different from y'alls
Sean, nigga spell my name right
You fucked up the package, you ain't selling the cane right
I'm game tight, big gun that I aim right
At any lame type that be thinking about a gang type
Hug and a smile, ain't real so I feel like a motherless child
You dudes in trouble
Big guns with bullets that's the size of the super bubble
Nigga that don't work
Hit me with your best, I guess that don't hurt
P!
[Verse 2: Jakk Frost]
What the fuck is you thinking?
You used to busting your gun, then why the fuck is you blinking?
If I don't bash your skulls with bottles of Dom P
I'm in [?] bitches with Tek and Sean P
Oh who me? I'm that nigga Jakk Frost
Bust the mac off and make the D-T's back off
My firing pin wind blow the whole double stack off
Me fuck your bitch? Nigga I'd rather jack off
Stuck on my Sinatra shit, bitch I do it "My Way"
Four and a half ounces back to [?] on the highway
You better than me nigga, please that's what they all say
In the projects, fifth floor, my feigns in the hallway
They calling me bruh man
Loyal like the [?] man
Don't make me fu-fuck around and let the uzi stutter man
Beard Gang general, Beard Gang admiral
Tom Brady with bullets, who wanna catch this lateral?
I air niggas, delete and clear niggas
Try to stand up, tie you to a wheelchair nigga
I went a little over so I'mma stop here nigga
This is Beard Gang Click, long facial hair niggas
Rags to riches and riches to rags nigga
The bag with the shit got shit on the bag nigga
Bag on my hip, pop spit up your mask nigga
Mad little bitch drop the fist to your ass nigga
My gift of gab is a gift from the Gods
The God given talent I'm spitting is different from y'alls
Sean, nigga spell my name right
You fucked up the package, you ain't selling the cane right
I'm game tight, big gun that I aim right
At any lame type that be thinking about a gang type
Hug and a smile, ain't real so I feel like a motherless child
You dudes in trouble
Big guns with bullets that's the size of the super bubble
Nigga that don't work
Hit me with your best, I guess that don't hurt
P!
[Verse 2: Jakk Frost]
What the fuck is you thinking?
You used to busting your gun, then why the fuck is you blinking?
If I don't bash your skulls with bottles of Dom P
I'm in [?] bitches with Tek and Sean P
Oh who me? I'm that nigga Jakk Frost
Bust the mac off and make the D-T's back off
My firing pin wind blow the whole double stack off
Me fuck your bitch? Nigga I'd rather jack off
Stuck on my Sinatra shit, bitch I do it "My Way"
Four and a half ounces back to [?] on the highway
You better than me nigga, please that's what they all say
In the projects, fifth floor, my feigns in the hallway
They calling me bruh man
Loyal like the [?] man
Don't make me fu-fuck around and let the uzi stutter man
Beard Gang general, Beard Gang admiral
Tom Brady with bullets, who wanna catch this lateral?
I air niggas, delete and clear niggas
Try to stand up, tie you to a wheelchair nigga
I went a little over so I'mma stop here nigga
This is Beard Gang Click, long facial hair niggas