Uh. Yeah, bitch!

You shop at The Gap? I gonna shoot you with my gat,
If you dress like that yo' be askin' fo' combat.
Yo' yuppie ass jeans make my trigga finger itch,
Toss yo' hoodie wearing corpse in th' freeway ditch.

You work at The Gap? Yo' punishment's doubled,
Throw you in a grinder bitch, you come out crumbled.
Yo' screaming fo' yo' mommy whiles I grinds off yo' head,
Fuckin' relax bitch, you gonna be dead.

See me at The Gap, pumping round afta round,
Bitches in they khaki's all hittin' the ground.
Blood on capri's an' denim shirts,
Fuck print fleece, fuck cargo skirts.

The Gap ain't a place that real gangstas shop,
When th' L. Dawg's there, you betta be off.
I don't fuck around when it comes to fashion,
Hate The Gap with a mothafuckin' passion.

Damn bitch, that's the straight truth!