Grab His Banger Z (of Firing Squad)

[Verse 1: Z]
Bang bang bang banger on his lap
Is that shit faithful from the get-go? (yeah)
So drunk he pulling pistols on his kinfolk like he's skitzo (damn)
Please excuse the info
Z was never tied to tip-toe
Cause he did the shit he spit for when if you feel it he gon' get gold (go get it)
Brain brain giant antic
When I'm ramping through these track releases
So sick he talk trash diseases and spaz out right after drinking brainsick (Brain)
I know I'm wrong sometimes (sometimes)
But my limiter on my "give a fuck man" it's gone sometimes
I'm all that's left
Sinner with a pinner and a pint of this Cuervo come walk with me (c'mon)
Come talk with me and see heavens skies and hear the devil cry his philosophies (hahah)
Posted like photography
With a banger and his Dickey creased
Cause these peasies all trapeze at ease
And my preference skis is a hundred feet
Pit-bulls by the doolie
And my toolie that like to sit with me (c'mon man)
But I'm simple business and my temper feeding's a simple matter of shit you speak
A mixtape a week and I eat these beats while I load my piece
To make sure these powders burn, releases at least six teamers of monster cheese (ugh)
You wanna speak on Z but won't see me from the shoulders, please
I couldn't clean, Febreze
These streets is hectic ain't it G? (ain't it?)
I smoke the dankest weed, so pray for me cause I'm a dying breed
Posted with a banger and a bulletproof vest on my chest to protect this life for me