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Last Day Out
(Marc Boomin, this you?) What up, Marc Boomin? You know what's up, you know This my last day out, you know what I'm sayin'? I'm, I'ma go 'head kick it with y'all, show you how I'm living right quick, though I'll be right back, though That shit ain't shit (Boomin need extras) This my last day out, I'm finna jump fresh Pull a
hundred K
out, go to the
set It'll be God if I
find a
pint of Hi-Tech Gotta go out with a
bang on my last sip Still got BMI checks I
ain't cash yet YouTube checks rolling in, I
ain't even check I
wasn't paranoid at all, I
ain't even sweat Twenty racks on the
floor right now, I'ma need that Three years and eight months, I'll be right back Quarter million put up, I
could sleep like that But I'm really nervous, though, I
can't even cap I
just bought my second crib and BM got the
'Lac Probably finna sell my 550, snatch off the
wrap I
can make a
hundred racks quick, I
just gotta rap I
know I'm out on fed bond, but I
got a
strap I
got too many chains on, I
ain't tryna scrap Dick her down off a
Perc', made her wobble back I
think I
need to go to church, where my mama at? Gotta spend some time with my granny, where Big Mama at? I
should bring her to the
studio to watch me rap Your grandbaby doing good, just made another hundred My mama lost me to the
state, me and my lil' brother Baby Ghost, I
told you to chill, we gotta get some money Just think about when mama used to make us split a
hundred We gon' be straight, though, I
feel it in my stomach I
dicked her down, bitch say she feel it in her stomach I
might turn myself in in a
Prada jumper Just know when I
get out, a
helicopter coming Man, them bitches hit your baby with conspiracy Took the
blame for a
phone call, it wasn't really me Them bitches grabbed, me, Ty, A, Lee, and my nigga C
Talking 'bout the
fucking City Boys, are you kidding me? I
don't even know them niggas in my paperwork And I
ain't saying nobody snitching unless I
see the
paper first Yeah, I
knocked the
bitch out, but I
maced her first 'Member stunting at the
gas station tryna take a
purse Now I'm freestyling, drinking cough syrup, taking Percs Yeah, I'll post your mixtape, you gotta pay me first I
know my fans probably mad I
gotta leave 'em But I'ma still drop heat, y'all gotta stream it Even though it's gon' be a
while 'fore y'all see me I'm coming back ten times harder, guarantee it What kind of diamonds in your chain? I
can't see 'em I
got some Cookie loads 'round, they eighteen-ish Plea agreement came in, I
ain't read it Just give me all the
time y'all want to, 'cause I
ain't see shit Just 'cause he got thirty months don't mean he snitched If you ain't see the
evidence, then you can eat dick Forty-four months seem long, but it's gon' be quick I
might not even call a
bitch 'til week six Can't be mad, 'cause I
signed up for this street shit Got it out the
mud, I
do not accept free shit Y'all gon' miss me, though? Man, they lying if they say Da Yung OG ain't put the
city on When you locked up, they'll treat you like you dead and gone Little do they know I'm coming home to a
letter, bro Like an M
or something And my bitch texting me like the
dinner done Man, the
opps cliqued up, I
bought a
bigger gun Seventeen-five just to get the
kitchen done Bullets in the
.308 look like a
little thumb Alright, I
got so much sauce on me like a
chicken nugget Dior B22s off the
prison jumper I'ma be gone for a
minute, but my niggas coming My niggas coming harder than ever Yeah, my niggas finna go hard Ghetto Boyz, bitch, on the
yard, I'ma bogard Probably got fifty, sixty racks in my Goyard Nigga, you do not own a
crib, you ain't How the
fuck you own a
crib, you stunting an AP, you ain't got no yard? Ayy, I'll be right back, though, look Ghetto Boyz in this bitch, nigga, free the
whole ghetto Free C, free A, free Ri, free T, you know what I'm saying My nigga Peezy back, Mike gon' hold this shit down Louie gon' hold this shit down I
got the
Coochie Man Nigga, my best friends are fucking talented entertainment Y'all gotta, ayy, y'all gotta deal with us Nigga, even when I'm gone, y'all gon' have to deal with me, 'cause I'm still putting pressure down And I'm giving you niggas a
chance to catch back up, goddamnit I'm finna go, go down, lay down, go to sleep for three years, eight months Get some rest 'Cause when I
come home, the
pressure back on I'm back not sleeping, I'm back in the
studio on you niggas' head I'm back dropping chains and watches and new cars Y'all niggas got three years to catch up, bro, I'm telling you Shit on the
floor, Ghetto Boyz Let me hear that shit, Water, from the
jump
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