Double 2 one 3

PCK shi... DOUBLE 2 ONE 3...223's

Yeah, I’m posted in the mud where the bayou breathes,

Crew deep, steel sharp, talkin’ two-two-threes.

Flash in the dark, let the silence speak,

Every round got a sermon, make the wicked weak.

 

223’s hum, then sting a nigga like a wasp

Clip full, mind cold, let the murda begin.

Ain’t no mercy in the field when the loyalty’s thin,

We protect what’s ours—blood, fire, and kin.

 

From the cane fields down to the cracked concrete,

We move like shadows, never miss a beat.

Enemies scatter when they hear that heat,

‘Cause the bayou don’t forgive, and the crew don’t sleep.

 

223’s in the trunk, that’s a soldier’s code,

Every bar that I spit is a heavy load.

Ain’t no fairytales here, just the path we chose,

Grit in my soul, and the legend grows.

 

Yeah, I’m posted in the mud where the bayou breathes,

Crew deep, steel sharp, talkin’ two-two-threes.

Flash in the dark, let the silence speak,

Every round got a sermon, make the wicked weak.

 

223’s spit fire, cut the night in half,

Echo through the pines like a ghostly laugh.

Mud on my boots, but the aim stay clean,

Every shot bleed a story that the news, and feds ain’t seen.

 

We don’t flex for the ‘Gram, we protect the PCK hood,

Every trigger pull a pussy nigga drops

From the levees to the block, it’s the same old creed,

Feed the crew, guard the fam, let the steel fly.

 

Enemies creep slow, but the swamp run deep,

Where the gators don’t blink and the shadows don’t sleep.

223’s hum low, then they bite with speed,

It’s survival in the blood, and the code we bleed.