.45 Hopout

Roadrunnin'

‎killjae hop out that cut with that .45, you better duck

I don't got Nike ski, I walk 'round hoodied up

Know a freak bitch love to ride dick, giddy up

**** capped out, don't know killjae let me up

Talk to lil' fat ****, say, "I'm goin' up"

Can't tell me shit, I seen some shit growin' up

I can't crack that bitch now, but just wait 'til I'm up (I can't crack that bitch now)

Pop two Percs', throw third back, then I'm out

Fuck that front door, creep through the back of the house

**** talk hot, but that's not what they 'bout

**** wan' rat, I throw that boy on the ground

Got shots fired, totin', left clip on the ground

Know some **** that hide in the crib when I'm 'round

Know a **** that slime that boy off for a pound

If that **** tryna die 'bout that bitch, he a clown

Nosy-Nosy as fuck, see what he talkin' bout, bro tryna crash out in this whip and hop out

N-**** bitches, that's who I'm talkin' bout

Pull that gun out, fuck 'round, knock that boy out

**** not in the field, **** in the dugout

I get tired of thumbin', throw me money count

Ye-Yeah, throw me money count and my brother got locked up, he in that slammer

Have foe'nem run in yo crib like he Santa

Old boy got Hi-Point, know that bitch jammin'

And them **** don't come out the crib, they be campin'

Get back, tryna set that boy up, I'm like, "Damn it"

And that **** that talk too much, I might can him

That backdoor not wide, foe'nem, we ram it

Hop out, .45 make that boy panic

Hop out, .45 make that boy— (She's all out of brothers)

Ayy

Tell me

Fucking dead