Way Out

(альбом: Trunk Muzik Returns - 2013)

[Hook:]
Cinnamon seats, dashboard flakes, yeah, sprayed out
Drunk as fool, throwing that Jimmy back until I'm laid out
Homie, I'm on my Catfish Billy shit, I'm talking way out
Dude, I'm way out – I'm talking way out
Rolling country side anywhere that I go, hey now
Drunk on 'Quake, cops pulling off they telling me "turn it way down"
Homie, I'm on my Catfish Billy shit, I'm talking way out
Dude, I'm way out – I'm talking way out

[Verse 1:]
Yeah – intergalactic, out of my mind and into traffic
In the pepper Converse tryna climb out
And risk it with nothing in my backpack
It's me: a son of a bitch, a child of a prick
A stepson you don't wanna hit
Ooo wee, no, not him – not Lil' Wayne, Michael Wayne
Who you thought it was, B?
Damn right, and I'm on a tightrope
Screaming out "die bitch!" Fuck my life...
I ain't never give a fuck, I could never give a fuck now
So put the chain on my bike, yeah
Put that bitch back on the sprocket,
Give me the pistol before you cock it
Let me throw a bullet in the clip for luck for us
Pour up, yeah, popping these, shocking, ain't it mane?
Well I guess nobody wants to be broke, right? Black or white
Paint the frame,
'Cause I'm only used to refusing the stereotypes of a name
I ain't a name – I'm a soul, I'm a piece of gold
I'm a pro, I'm a piece of shit too...
What I gotta do if I gotta roll? Guess what?
I'm a roll all over you when I'm riding

[Hook]

[Verse 2:]
Used to watch my beeper chirp, new Dickies and a Backbreaker shirt
My world was a little bitty spot in the universe outside of Earth
Tennessee loud, Alabama born, I came down in a meteor storm
Media wrong, media right, righting my wrong, lean to get along
Don't come to get this, children go this building is about to blow
I don't know what I'm a do with this feeling
Inside of my mind and soul
I'm a one-in-a-million human show
Shoulda been the motherfucking Truman Show
But if you seen me getting raped as a child
You probably wouldn't give me room to grow
Heavy blow, take a heavy sigh, like a runner on the daily, high oh my
You'll be good, baby boy, don't cry
I can make a boat with the broke up rhymes
God made me the Cherokee
Like no, I can't let the world off the hook this time
And if you didn't want this catfish shit,
In fact, you shoulda never shook that line
Readied that hook, took this time, to press play, then rewind
I would rather be drunk than be blind
To the space age pimp shit that I combine
With what I know, rock and roll, I'm so famous, country fresh
That I can't take one step in the fucking street when I'm in public
So I get in this...

[Hook]

[Outro:]
Yeah, I'm on my Catfish Billy shit (sprayed out)
Still riding them Chevrolets, know what I mean? (laid out)
Alabama, South Kakalak is way out
You know we way out
Trunk Muzik is way out
Rolling country side anywhere that I go, hey now
Drunk on 'Quake, cops pulling off they telling me "turn it way down"
Homie, I'm on my Catfish Billy shit, I'm talking way out
Dude, I'm way out – I'm talking way out