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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ab-Soul
Ab-Soul
Vocals
Da$H
Da$H
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Darien Dash
Darien Dash
Songwriter
Herbert Anthony Stevens IV
Herbert Anthony Stevens IV
Songwriter
William Thomas Trenell Brown
William Thomas Trenell Brown
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Willie B
Willie B
Producer

Lyrics

Check it out, hey This is a story all about how My life got flipped, turned upside down And if you roll another blunt and keep your mouth shut I'll tell you how I became the wicked nigga they call Young Mind Fuck Black out, black out (Youngin from Del Amo) Black out, black out (Belt by Ferrigamo) Black out, black out Black out, yeah, aye, man (black out) They speak highly of me when I raise my voice I gotta shoot a fuckin' free throw to make my point My wittiness leave 'em stuck in the wilderness You need a backwood to roll to this joint I'm Robin Hood in Robin jeans, you follow me? Nevermind, I'm tired of tight analogies Still in pursuit of happiness in the midst of the madness With middle fingers to bitches with badges that go oink (Yeah! Yeah!) I'm on the fence with common sense My logic is sound, Spock of the 90746 No shit, Sherlock Remind 'em of Han Solo on the battlefront Everybody behind Soulo and they backin' up I just threw my two-step, let her back it up Go on, back it up! Go on, back it up! You dry-snitchin', I'm slidin' in somethin' moist You annoy these women, I anoint these women You stressin' em, I schedule an appointment with 'em They let me cut so much I bring ointment, nigga I'm lubricant slick, baby, I'm hornier than The brass section of the band, you understand? Pick your poison, it's your choice Hey, I'm just a youngin from Del Amo (Lil' homie from the hood) Yeah, with a belt by Ferragamo (Yeah, bitch, I look good) Hey, just doing want I wanna This ain't marijuana Please don't tell my mama I'ma black out, black out, black out, black out You tellin' white lies while I black out Black out, black out, black out, black out Pale white horse when I black out Black out, black out, black out, black out Spark the white lighter, then I black out Even white lives matter when I black out Bucket of black paint in front the White House, nigga (Yeah! Yeah!) I hope I'm in Obama's iPod Yeah, 'fore I had a desktop Was lookin' for a shortcut to be an icon But this time it's for the money, my nigga Me and the Ichiban Don got itchy palms And I just left Emmet's with a jar and a intercom I'ma act an ass and have a donkey to pin it on I'm winnin' no matter what the decision's dependin' on I'm sinister, picture a tickin' bomb in the Pentagon The typical shit I've been on, remember the pen is gone Your pinnacle's penny-pinchin' I'm gettin' nickels for my thoughts Like Slim Shady in Balmain jeans Difficult to say I'm vision impaired, all I seen I'm Yamborghini High, A$AP M-O-B Your 16 is pint-sized to me Hey, I'm just a youngin from Del Amo (Lil' homie from the hood) Hey, with a belt by Ferragamo (Yeah, bitch, I look good) Hey, just doing want I wanna This ain't marijuana Please don't tell my mama I'ma black out, black out, black out, black out You tellin' white lies while I black out Black out, black out, black out, black out Pale white horse when I black out Black out, black out, black out, black out Spark the white lighter, then I black out Even white lives matter when I black out Bucket of black paint in front the White House, nigga Young no shame Kurt Cobain, bastard son With a gun in palm; money, pussy, crime sittin' on my mind No emotion, orange bottles how I deal with mine Crackin' bannies only time a nigga cross the line Wrong hand signs'll turn a function to Columbine Yeah, so, B.O.B's top gunner Front runner, NEVR DIE clique, the thing you are not, brother Polo Ralph Lauren is keepin' the Glock covered Pour up medication by the brick Sippin' oil like we're tryna sink a ship So yeah, uppers and the downers in the mix Now the film heads talking 'bout a script Livin' my days is a gamble I guess that's the perks of the set, bet Ain't nothin' certain but dirt, that bitch wearin' that skirt So I guess that I'm flirtin' with death Need the type of cash cow to get Trump whacked out Here's the question you should ask What's the Soul without the Da$H? Never had the option I could back out If it's 'bout the cash, then I act out Black out, black out Black out, black out Black out, black out Black out, black out Yeah, so!
Writer(s): Darien C. Dash, Willie T Brown, Herbert Anthony Stevens Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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