Gangsters

Maybe thugs aren’t shooters,

They all need to decompress.

Calling themselves gangsters,

Never should they be blessed.

 

Thugs don’t get all their girls,

They pay them just big bucks.

Killing like they own all worlds,

Murdering with all their Glocks.

 

Blood gangs, where are the Crips?

Crip gangs, where is the Bloods?

They are fake owning their cribs,

Murdering just to own any goods.

 

Gangsters don’t own their swags,

It’s the Rap Game, it’s the G Code.

They rob and steal, filling all bags,

Man, these gangsters seem all old!