Slippin

(album: Salute Me Or Shoot Me 5 - 2015)

[Hook:]
Don't let me catch you slipping, don't let me catch you slipping
Don't let me catch you slipping, don't let me catch you slipping
Caught a nigga slipping outside of the parking lot
Young nigga popped his chain and ran in his pockets
No mask so you know who got it
But you scared to get it back cause you know they 'bout it
Don't let me catch you slipping, don't let me catch you slipping
Don't let me catch you slipping, don't let me catch you slipping
Cause you move to Hollywood you ain't good out there
Send the Pirus get your shit took out there
Bring a nigga shit straight back to Atlanta
Now them Clay County niggas got kush out there

Heard he in the H, I call J. Prince Jr
You ain't from the streets you just rap a lot, nigga
Booked for a show in the middle of the hood
You ain't good out there, this is Chi-Town, nigga
Asshole by nature, fuck it I'm Trae
Run that chain, nigga, like it's a relay
You really pussy that's what the streets say
Fuck who you know nigga, you gotta pay
Out in PA, fucking with cook
Heard your favorite rapper got his AP took
I'm seeing green dots, putting money on books
If he broke he hating young nigga get money
Fucking with the white girl, Playboy bunny
Got them niggas looking funny have them runnn' in your shit
Caught 'em slipping pumping gas, nigga you a sweet leak
Got robbed by the bloods now you running with the crips – Nah
You niggas ain't bool
Imma call troop, he gon' call big you
Now the guns all on you nigga deja vu
You a question mark gangster – DJ Clue
For that Cuban link chain and that big Rolex
You in the wrong scenario – Tribe Called Quest
On the jet boy mission all our clips got extensions
Trying to hold onto your chain, you gon' end up missing

[Hook]

I got shooters in the D, I ain't talking bout the Pistons
Grand Theft Auto, send them homies on a mission
Pay yo' ass a visit bragging bout your low ticket
Shoulda kept your mouth closed, now we know your business
Lying on your crib like an infant, kill you in an instant
I want the shit for the chicken, I just hit a sweet lick, Charlie Sheen we winning
Ten toes down with the yoppa, I'm a beast
No V-103 like Greg I'm street
Don't give up the money, then it's RIP
Sending head shots like the DMV
Half asleep, split your wig like the red sea
Got stripes in the street like a referee
Have a nigga running like a refugee
Show you how to rob, got the recipe
Do your homework, find out where he be at
Where he hide the money put the D at
Run up in yo' shit we gon' seize that
Then break it down on the g pad
Better be, boo you don't need that
Waka Flocka Flame catch me hanging where the G's at
Rob a dope boy, I ain't worrying 'bout prison
Can't call the police 'bout them bricks in the kitchen

[Hook]