Buy Out Lyrics

A hundred miles and running, niggers going at the end
of me
Niggers switching sides, give me nothing like it’s the
end of me.
Niggers having family, but I know these niggers into
Pown me, thug it to the motherf**ker sin is me.
Imma train the topic time down, bitch, I’m riding in a
If you don’t like me, than I’m sorry.
I ain’t og, I’m just being me, f**king pretty clear.
I rap about this shit, ‘cause I did it.
Life don’t change, neither do the game,
Niggers getting money, but the rules stay the same.
Who I’m gonna sound with, who I wanna ground with?
That’s my only question, nigger, see ‘em G I’m down
Cocaine mirrors, cold money guns, every nigger I f**k
with with the g I make them bun,
So I never leave the house without my chain on my gut,
Got on my old boy Gucci so I fresh pearl once.

See, nigger, see, I feel like I wanna release, nigger,
I got to face earth, you know what I mean?
And then I got nothing to do and get no money
And that, nigger, that be a hundred.
That be a hundred with yourself, that be a hundred with
the niggers,
A hundred with you, you know what I mean?
Man, I got a lot of young nigger around me, nigger,
And that’s straight of low life family, nigger, could
kill for each other,
That thing is real.

Murder was the case, nigger, jump a hoardal with a race
nigger, down
Then I put it in your face, to the face, on my case,
Told my lawyer go to trial, I’m doing it big in the
If I lose, place a riot for me, if I die don’t stay
fire for me,
Pour on some liquor and get higher for me,
I’m doing this thing for my home boys,
I have it, oh, lord, so surely can avoid.
I came here speaking from my heart for some time around
Am I a real rapper or just a nigger on lands?
I don’t know, I’m confused, do I suppose to be rich?
You know that hoe ain’t your hoe, she’s your supposed
to be bitch.
No supposed to be clip, I want no allias,
You see ‘em G, homie and we don’t franchise.
I get green gas off the whipe ass, don’t get in that
And he get bout time.
Hallelujah, bless my shooters, serve my jazle, watch
him hit that shooter.
f**k that rap shit, I don’t fit in,
How they f**k boys, how they fake friends.
Streets on fire, plug on gold mode, streets so damn
dry, I might get a truck load.
f**k your country, I won’t sign it, labels keep calling
me, but I don’t call back.

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Record Label(s): 2015 Be Great Music Group, LLC
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