Bring Out Your Dead lyrics

[Intro: Koopsta Knicca & Yung Mutt]
You gon', you gon', die, die— (Out of the way, kids)
Hanging out the motherf*cking window (Ayy, ayy, ayy)
'Bout to shoot this b*tch

[Verse 1: Yung Mutt]
Used to smoke crack, now I count f*cking racks
Mack daddy smacked, licking a powder bag
Back on my bullsh*t, white Benz coupe fit three in the back
And that's not including yo' b*tch too, sh*t
Mutt hit the blunt like a bum
$lick in the cut with a cut, no, we never gave a f*ck
Here I come, suck it up, b*tch, I'm f*cked
Lead in the brain, I got tar in the lungs
Threads full of stains in my car, f*cking slumped
Nothing to gain, I got nothing but bad f*cking luck
Lean the seat back as I swerve and I crash
Yeah, there's blood mixed with glass
As my dreams turn to black, I'm ash
Put 'em in the back, no strap in the backpack
Just a bunch of trash
Told Zac, "If we ever fell off with G*59 or FTP
Let's just be terrorists, blow up on NBC"

[Chorus: Koopsta Knicca]
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Hanging out the motherf*cking window
'Bout to shoot this b*tch
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Hanging out the motherf*cking window (Ooh, ooh–)
'Bout to shoot this b*tch
[Verse 2: Tony Wit Da Tommy]
This for any pus*y-boy that wanna act up (Act up)
Find yourself dead with no guts (No guts)
Voice in my head saying, "Kill yourself"
So, so, so I wrote a note
Hot boy, turned cold
To whom it may concern, f*ck you and the world
Nurse these Xanax
Anxiety on panic, like "f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, I gotta go"
I got a sixty pack waitin' at home
Feel like a zombie; I'm all alone
Everyone clones
Please tell your b*tch to stop hitting my phone
Before I put the .45 at your dome, lil' b*tch
Hollow tips to the whole motherf*cking game (Game)
Hollow tips, gonna insert in my brain

[Chorus: Koopsta Knicca]
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Yeah, you gon' die, ho (R.I.P. Koopsta Knicca)
Hanging out the motherf*cking window (R.I.P. Koopsta Knicca)
'Bout to shoot this b*tch
Yeah, you gon' die, ho (R.I.P. Koopsta Knicca)
Yeah, you gon' die, ho
Hanging out the motherf*cking window (Triple Six, Triple Six, Triple—)
'Bout to shoot this b*tch