Murda Talk
Murda Talk

Murda Talk Lyrics Meanings
by NLE Choppa

Murda Talk Music Video

Murda Talk Lyrics

(Think we found a loophole)
A hunnid shottas, two oppas, I bet these Glock I pop 'em (I bet I do)
A hunnid shottas, two oppas, I bet these Glock I pop 'em (I bet I do)
A hunnid shottas, two oppas, I bet these Glock I pop 'em

Ayy, I think lil' homie scared, fool
He say, "I'm ready, fool" (ready, fool)
So I gave him that lil' dirty tool
He say he finished dude (he got the Glock, nigga)
Say he caught him slippin'
Got the clip and knocked him out his shoes (grrt, sayin')
Mommas cryin', niggas dyin'
Pussy, that's what shottas do, (ayy, shottas)
Creep on your block, real slow (slow)
Tint on my window (window)
Mask on, gloves on (gloves, hey)
You know that clip extendo (extendo)
And don't let down that window (ayy)
Open up that door and chase his ass (the fuck you doin'?)
Put two up in his back
And then I walk 'em down and face his ass (grrt, grrt, grrt)
Said he want some smoke (yeah)
Well, you know I had to lace his ass (yeah, yeah)
Opposition's hoe gave me throat
While she was shakin' ass (what? What? Yeah)
My pops said, "Don't give him that Glock
'Cause you know he gon' fuckin' cry" (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
If a nigga catch me in a jam
You know I let it ride (skrrt, grrt)
It's my life or yours, pussy nigga
I'm gon' let me decide
We shoot first, we don't shoot back (nope)
So you niggas better duck and hide (grrt, grrt)
I got the Drac' in trench coats (ayy)
Send shots up through the window (ayy)
I got the Glock, a gen four (ayy)
We pop his top and then we go (ayy, ayy, ayy)
Traffickin' birds like Nino (ayy)
We leave him lost like Nemo (ayy)
All-black attire, emo (ayy)
Short time to live like chemo (ayy, ayy, ayy)
If the number's right, your nigga kill you (Ooh)
Call it bingo (I bet he did it)
You better watch your lingo (brrt)
My niggas slide for G-note (brrt, I made him do it)
I need to slow down on them thirties (hey)
'Cause I'm keep throwin' up (I'm throwin' up)
I threw back two of them bitches (bah)
So it gave me bubble guts
Ayy, I got my pistol with me (ayy)
Got the semi with me (brrt)
Ridin' in the hemi (yeah, yeah)
I was thuggin' hard in juvenile (ayy)
I had the rules bendin' (ayy, ayy, ayy)
He like, "damn, you left that clip empty? (What?)
Yeah, I left that clip empty (stupid)
Yeah, I'm killer, so come tempt me (duh)
Memphis shooters like the Grizzlies (go)
Shoot his baby mama in his chest (grrt, grrt)
Damn near knocked the titty (uh)
I'm off a couple fuckin' Percocets (ooh)
I feel my body lifted (ayy)
Why the fuck that boy, he got a vest? (Ayy)
We pop his top and dip it (ayy)
Drive-by in a Honda Civic
So they know lil' Choppa did it (ayy, brrt)
Hop out, boys on the block (get up)
Niggas ran like they seen the narcs (brrt, yeah, ah, yeah)
Hit him in his thigh (boom)
Hit him in his back, make him drop
Oh, he still alive? Let me finish that
Pop his top (what), I don't fantasize
Them bodies in my mind (huh, huh)
And I can't stop (huh, huh)
Uh, nigga know I keep a Glock, yeah (huh, huh, ayy)
Nigga (ayy), fuck, how we gon' buck
Nigga, fuck, nigga (ayy)
Brrt (ayy), nigga, fuck nigga (we takin' trees)
Bust, nigga, brrt (ayy)
You know we bust triggers (ayy)
Fuck nigga (brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt)

Writer(s): Bryson Potts, Caleb McLean, Javar Rockamore, Robert Reese, Ron Montgomery, Theodore Thomas
Copyright(s): Lyrics © GREAT SOUTH BAY MUSIC GROUP INC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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