Discover the poetic beauty in ‘We Got’ by 2 Chainz. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 2 Chainz or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
[Ludacris]
DTP we got them guns that go…
[I-20]
Yea I’m all about that pistol playa, cold blooded killa
N****z recognize my name, I dub the young dealer
You better tell ya man that with the gages I’m nice
Ill shoot up why’all white shirts until why’all look like dikes
But I’m through with all the talking time to show all you n****z
I 2-0, I’m like J-Lo…going through n****z
DTP we ain’t plying if you try to get our pen
A.K’s get ta spraying like…
Bottom line that mean I’m bout it, any n**** want it, doubt it
Bust you in the broad day, on the street that’s fully crowded
Find our hole and fagots there, just for thinking its rap
And tell that pretty b**** thug we got some pretty big gats
Chaka say I’m shot out, and I tend to agree
So you should what you saying if it’s intended for me
So be careful what you starting, let my fingers do the walking
And that oozy get to talking like…
[Tity Boi]
Hammers, jam ’em, snatch ’em, grab ’em
Can the an and f*** ’em, damn ’em
Press him, man him, scared him, teared him, kneed him up
Bake him, take him, beat him up, I hate I hate, I eat him up
A-be -see-E-F shawty is you a G or what
Now it’s just me and my nuts, that’s all I got in this world
I’m pulling pistols out my stomach and throwing them b****es up like earl
Serving the club, head shot, scattered, covered, run, scram ’em
I’m 38, hot with a pearl handle…
And I’m throwing text like a NBA ref
I got, all gold guns like they came from I-RAQ
Artillery, could it be I got all kinds of these pistols
I point my gun at ya homeboy make ya own folks hit ya
And ain’t taking no more pictures, if you snap ima click
Anyway, plus I got bullets in the clip the size of Lil Fate
And I’m webbing choppers like heli-copters
You gon’ need hella doctors, when the glok go…
[Chingy]
Say on the set b****, better watch your lip that text be quick
20 over thurr, Tity over thurr, Luda over thurr, ain’t no exit trick
Us you don’t mess with, we got them guns like action flicks
Reload with the next clip, I’m the ro n**** to flex with b****
Come on and test this, my gun I’m having sex with s***
Put a bullet in (in) shoot it out, got them long horns like Texas b****
Look at my necklace, maybe hit a ngga disrespect this click
My pistol grip sound like this…now what
Who want that they f***ed, when I c*** and load the cake, bust bust
why’all cowards play tough, and my peeps we come to spray stuff up
why’all lives made up, like ugly hoes with make-up bra
We’ll suit you up then toss yo a** in the lake tough nut
I’m wrist rocky, like Sylvester Stallone
So thurr for you should invest, in a vest for ya dome
Cause I know you marks planning on getting me when I’m landing
Beast the nick, but my cannon go…
[Ludacris]
F*** a medic, we gon’ call yo a** a taxi cab
Bleedin so hard you’ll need a life size maxi pad
So flip the script and tell your woman its your time on the month
A.K. 47 for the n****z who’s really looking for heaven and a 9 for you chumps
Got killaz in my squad and I’m the nicest one in my group
But I got bananas for you n****z and I ain’t talking bout fruit
Ill pay your CAB BACK with the BLACK MACK
Till your BACK CRACK, got the GAT BACK like…CLAK CLAK CLAK
Swallow a hallow make ’em digest with a 50 caliber
Yo futures not looking so good, tomorrows not on your calendar
I, do away with the amateurs, they breathing too long
Ill leave ’em coughing like the sound effects you hear in this song
My Shotguns are cold and hard, but my Desert is easy
And my triggers are always talking about some squeeze me, squeeze me
And for these fakers talking greezy, I’m starting the show
My Oozy got a drum roll, it goes…