"Outta Pocket" lyrics

"Outta Pocket"

Go, uh
(Hugo)
Go
Uh

Daily, they make up assumptions 'bout who with it
They ain't lookin' at the stats, my numbers killin' niggas' feelings, I ain't chillin'
Niggas want me gone, I say let's get it
I ain't never duckin' shit, you want some beef, then I'ma grill it
Put me in the stu', then I'ma kill it
Stack it taller than the ceiling, ain't no limit on my chicken, is you kidding?
Bitch, I been the sickest, in these 'Miri jeans
I done made a hundred on that block and that's before the fiends
Can't ignore the cheese
When that paper get to callin', I be quick to leave
Sippin' Wock straight out the pints, you know I love the lean
Never been the one to snitch, though, I'll never sing
Fell in love inside the trap, I almost bought a ring
Get your bitch up out my face, she thought we was a thing
It was just a fling, this ain't Billie Jean
Got a pound of weed
Drop it to my migo in the 'Go, he bring me back the green
Bitch, I been up in the lead, bein' rich was just a dream
Now I'm gettin' Rollies for the team, what you mean?
Niggas do some good, and then they act like it's a deed
Better get your good in, karma creep up like some weeds
And I won't be the one that they gon' put up on that poster
Keep a toaster no matter what, I love the holder
Got up on my shit and now I'm meeting with my broker
Thuggin' on the T, that shit had turned me to a soldier
Straight up out the Chi, where every winter, it get colder
Start off with nobody, ain't no cryin' on no shoulders
Go get you some money, bitches foldin' like folders
So don't go waste your time, 'cause bitch, you only gettin' older
Twin 'nem say that we on go, then we on go
If it's smoke, glizzy wipe the smile away like a bad joke
Niggas stuck up in them trenches, yeah, they had hope
Then they gave it up for that fent', they sellin' bad dope
Mama don't know what to do, 'cause all her kids choke
Had a dream of playin' all them sports and fuckin' bad hoes
Niggas give up on they goals and turn to sad souls
Better go and get it while you can, you movin' too slow
Steppin' in this money, you in shelltoes
Blicky strapped up on my waist like it's velcro
Yeah, you gettin' all that product, it won't sell though
Stupid bitch, she tryna smoke my weed, I told her hell no

Stupid bitch
Stupid bitch
Go
Go
Go
Sleeze Money
Yeah
Stupid bitch tryna smoke my weed
Fuck wrong with her?
(Okay)


Writer(s): Antonio Rouse, Eric Allen
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