Fallin’ Out lyrics

[Intro]
Kid Wond3r, you made this beat? Damn
Aye, Outwest 290 sh*t, b*tch
No Hooks Part 2, you know how I'm rockin', n*gga
Get your guns up, get your funds up
You on that opp sh*t, get mop sticked, b*tch
Face Shot Gang, aye

[Verse]
It's so motherf*ckin' hot, I catch a tan in this b*tch
Like a mailman, I'm poppin' rubberbands in this b*tch
We be on that hot sh*t so don't get fanned in this b*tch
Left the club with her, but she came with her man in this b*tch
I'm so motherf*ckin' high that I can't stand in this b*tch
You a motherf*ckin' lie, you say I ran from some sh*t
Probably run off on the plug, probably run off with his drugs
n*gga run up on me wrong, so he run into some slugs
And I'm probably in the club, in VIP with some thugs
No security with me 'cause, b*tch, we deep and we got guns
He was chasin' me, they know I brought my sack into the club
Play with me and mine, lotta n*ggas die in cold blood
When I hit the spot, bet they lettin' out that redrum
Run up in your spot, green beams on all our guns
She got expensive taste, have my di*k all on her gums
Boy, the buildings vacant lots, sh*t, 'cause I'm from the slums
Fill a n*gga up with this hot sh*t, b*tch, you better not run
Thought it was a fair fight, he ain't know I had my gun
f*cked her on the first night and she caught my first son
Are you the toughest n*gga in the crowd? Then you the first one
Aye, Lil' Stewie, these hoes starstruck, they say I do some
You a broke n*gga, petty ass, using coupons
It's just me and Yae, pull up on your J with 2 guns
We ain't aimin' at your legs, b*tch, we aimin' at your head, b*tch
I'm eatin' good, I'm fed, b*tch, that Tropicana sh*t red, b*tch
n*ggas in the house on that scared sh*t, you hidin' under that bed, b*tch
Vacay with my AK, got my feet all in that sand, b*tch
The block on the walk up with a drum like I played in a band, b*tch
I'm so motherf*ckin' high that I can't see straight
These b*tches see me 3D and they press replay
I'm a shooter, n*gga, I should be on EA
Chopper in the front seat, that's my new bae
Yeah, you trippin', boy, you better tie your shoelace
F&N pencil bullets, don't get erased
If my b*tch get out of line, she get replaced
I scratch you off the list, yeah, I hit the backspace
And my bankrolls big like my fanbase
Forensics searchin', but they still can't find the shellcases
b*tch, I ball like a cancer patient, I'm the sh*t, boy, I'm constipated
I hang around robbers and you can get your sh*t confiscated
I'm on the phone with Ben Franklin, money my conversation
I shoot your chest and your leg, your head, ugly combination
They mad 'cause we made it, they hatin', use 'em for motivation
I live in the fast lane, my life is a celebration
I just bought a brand new chopper, a baby K
I run up in a n*gga house, broad day
I been at the finish line, but y'all late
The judge want me locked down behind them tall gates
f*ck these b*tches, I just want the money
I was sellin snow and it was sunny
I take my time and wrap 'em like a mummy
No Hilfiger, but I brought my Tommy!
Your time is runnin' out, grab my Glock and brung it out
They don't come outside 'cause they hidin', they ain't comin out
Got this big MAC with a lot of fries, ain't no runnin' out
I'm so motherf*ckin' hot, b*tches see me and start fallin' out
[Outro]
Gang, gang
No Hook Parts 2, b*tch