Blackout

Lyrics

[Intro: T.F] Uh, look Uh, okay, okay (Olman80) [Verse 1: T.F & 2 Eleven] Uh, spazzed out, tryna figure out how I blacked out In the traphouse with bitches doing lashes with they ass out "Ambitionz Of A Ridah" in the background The streets is like the octagon, if you break down, don't tap out Niggas out here storytellin' so the police, they camped out What happened to that old shit, hit super MACs and go max' out? Fuck them others who let the flash out, fall face first like Pakyal I post pics holding prop guns but it's real shit in my background Mashed down, MAK-90 hit the backstreets and get crumbed, ayy, ayy Hit the Eastside with the AGs and go dump, yeah, yeah Yeah, I'm tired hanging like a bandana 'round a Crip nigga steering wheel New brand new set of wheels, new bad bitch, hair and nails done A1 like raw year, plenty residue dollar bills Potting licks out at the Playa's Club, you get tied up like Dolla Bill Yeah, I got mine out the mud, nigga, like a lean-head popping seals I said I got mine out the mud, nigga, leaving yellow tape, popping shells (Yeah, uh) [Verse 2: 2 Eleven & Conway the Machine] Fresh out of jail, got it hot as hell Retaliation, nigga, might as well Yeah, my young nigga get a lot of kills, ah Busting missions out of Boneville With the cocaine, I made a lot of seals With the proceeds off a clientele Bought a hundred guns with a lot of shells Get the opposition, nigga, slide to hell Had to show these niggas I could rap-rap Made a half a milli' out the trap-trap But the kitchen table like a tat-tat With the .38, nigga, blap-blap Young Gunna, no slatt-slatt With a couple screws like I'm Fat Pack Rolls Royce, nigga, matte black After this verse, it's a wrap-wrap Bleed niggas like I missed 'em Mike Amiri jeans, spent a Crip on 'em Chopping blocks like a Flintstone I'm mixin' dog with the fentanyl All blood money getting rinsed off With the royalties from residuals They side, they love us but I'm dissing 'em Flipping hoes, that's original Shitting on 'em, that's intentional All these rap niggas ain't original Every single one sound similar I can't pick and choose who to listen to I cook waves, we flooding 'em, nigga Competition, we fuckin' 'em Every four hunnid, forty-eight grams Make sure we gon' double up, ah Twenty-five bands four times Nigga damn near ran a hunnid up They should've never gave them niggas no money Knowing they was finna run 'em up, ah Fuck it up, but then fuck it off Niggas having money, I can't tell Give a fuck about no government Them niggas politic theyself, yeah (Yeah) [Verse 3: Conway the Machine] Spazzed out, whole lot of Vs lining up at the back house (Ha) Told 'em wait 'til you all the way behind the gate before you pull your cash out (Ha) Put a little extra baking soda in the pot and get another half out (When?) You only got one body, nigga, that ain't really shit to brag 'bout (Ha) I can push the button right now, I can get a couple niggas scratched out (Brr) Like I'm a waxing menace, we gon' smoke them niggas, then we gon' stab out (Ayy, I'm stabbed out) I heard he had your spot mapped up Got your bitch tied up with a gagged mouth Went in the closet, took that bag out (Where it's at, bitch?) Put all the pounds in the Hefty, look like we taking trash out (Haha) If it's pressure, we spin and we ain't gon' let it drag out (Brr) Told that bitch to put up that plate and don't leave them bags out Where I'm from you can't put up your peace, it's getting bad out (It's bad) But I'm a straight goon, doing push-ups and holding us in a dayrun (Ha) Your turn to eat comin', but it ain't soon (It's my turn) I'm cooking up, the downstairs neighbors can smell the yay fumes (Hahaha) I stacked so much money that I'm running out of safe room (Ha) [Outro: Conway the Machine] Machine, haha, yeah