Out Of Pocket ft. D-Boy Lyrics

Death is like equations, it's amazing, gunshots blazin', especially when you're black, not like a hat, bullets grazin'

I've been bucked at before, but not the brag I almost had, when death is in your enemy face, them hot ones make Em stag

Many bad to the wrong, but I'm bad to lost souls

Come home, or take you ICE, that be blowin' through my chromosome

I'm mental for real, unlike no made of fuckin' films

You know I plead the fifth, 80 years, you get killed

You fuckin' with these cutthroats, the eeriest shit I ever wrote

But even though I'm blunted, fuck your ego and your dead folks

We psychos, so ring the alarm, pick razor fights, cause that's a bomb

Get cut once, you leap real fast, shoot like you drank wine

If you calm, I'll take you, maybe, act bold, you push a face

Either way it goes, you gon' feel the death of 30 times crazy

Play me like I play, hey, watch your breath and shoot like Mace

You may think never heard of a drunk man shoot so straight

All I ever wanted was to get off your mind

Cause I'm how we live and I'm how we die

Well, what's the reason for my Sanford Psycho attitude

Is it these broads and these cops that make me hella rude

But if you cool, then I'm cool

Put that on something, I'll put that on my backs against the wall, fool

D-Boy and G and KB

Puttin' it down for the whole world, why that sucker free

So when you see me bouncin' through these urban ghetto streets

Give me ten feet, cause my back's against the wall, I pack heat

That's why Mr. Hatlin Glock be my best friend

And when you're out of pocket, know you're to the end

Sackin' paper, haters makin' things up, I'm whoopin' a miracle

And to those that didn't know that I was lyrical

Let game recognize game

And when you're out of pocket, you're gonna feel the heat, man

You're out of pocket, but you're still inside your mind

I'm a dress so seven square, one funk, and folks, I take you there

I'm earthy, my foot runnin', his mind was broad, was soft, but heart was skid

Flesh laid upon dirt streets, from the crash to his teeth

Why the fuck his mug was mean? He had no ring, but tried to peek

The nigga had the fuckin' balls, but tried to tip

My legs are hangin', fuckin' with you M.O.B.'s that slain

And bangin' be like janky as fuck, no luck

Bitter nowadays, cause now a nigga wanna do

Get paid and parlay, reality in the bank

Pops givin' a jump away from gettin' your skirt raised with no trace from a H.K

How sick can you be? Have mistaken fantasies

On your mind, they keep you blind from whatever, that's stupidity

Like biggie get the money, but it's hard to get the money

And flowin' like a blizzard, it's my crossroad, that's my destiny

Now take it, cause that's full of scratch

What I need, more fake stash

If worst came to worst, I would see the bank up out of stash

Fifty G straight, baby

OUTOF Pocket

OUT OF Pocket

OUT OF PocketOUT OF Pocket