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Correct Fallin' Out Lyrics
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Artists: L
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Lud Foe
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Correct Fallin' Out
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[Intro] Kid Wond3r, you made this beat? Damn Aye, out west 290 shit, bitch No Hooks Part 2, you know how I'm rockin', nigga Get your guns up, get your funds up You on that opp shit, get mop sticked, bitch Face shot gang, aye [Verse] It's so motherfuckin' hot, I catch a tan in this bitch Like a mailman, I'm poppin' rubber bands in this bitch We be on that hot shit so don't get fanned in this bitch Left the club with her, but she came with her man in this bitch I'm so motherfuckin' high that I can't stand in this bitch You a motherfuckin' lie, you say I ran from some shit Probably run off on the plug, probably run off with his drugs Nigga run up on me wrong, so he run into some slugs And I'm probably in the club, in VIP with some thugs No security with me 'cause, bitch, we deep and we got guns He was chasin' me, they know I brought my sack into the club Play with me and mine, lotta niggas die in cold blood When I hit the spot, bet they lettin' out that redrum Run up in your spot, green beams on all our guns She got expensive taste, have my dick all on her gums Boy, the buildings vacant lots, shit, 'cause I'm from the slums Fill a nigga up with this hot shit, bitch, you better not run Thought it was a fair fight, he ain't know I had my gun Fucked her on the first night and she caught my first son Are you the toughest nigga in the crowd? Then you the first one Aye, Lil Stewie, these hoes starstruck, they say I do some You a broke nigga, petty ass, using coupons It's just me and Yae, pull up on your J with 2 guns We ain't aimin' at your legs, bitch, we aimin' at your head, bitch I'm eatin' good, I'm fed bitch, that Tropicana shit red, bitch Niggas in the house on that scared shit, you hidin' under that bed, bitch Vacay with my AK, got my feet all in that sand, bitch The block on the walk up with a drum like I played in a band, bitch I'm so motherfuckin' high that I can't see straight These bitches see me 3D and they press replay I'm a shooter, nigga, I should be on EA Chopper in the front seat, that's my new bae Yeah, you trippin', boy, you better tie your shoelace F&N pencil bullets, don't get erased If my bitch get out of line, she get replaced I scratch you off the list, yeah, I hit the backspace And my bankrolls big like my fanbase Forensics searchin', but they still can't find the shellcases Bitch, I ball like a cancer patient, I'm the shit, boy, I'm constipated I hang around robbers and you can get your shit confiscated I'm on the phone with Ben Franklin, money my conversation I shoot your chest and your leg, your head, ugly combination They mad 'cause we made it, they hatin', use 'em for motivation I live in the fast lane, my life is a celebration I just bought a brand new chopper, a baby K I run up in a nigga house, broad day I been at the finish line, but y'all late The judge want me locked down behind them tall gates Fuck these bitches, I just want the money I was sellin snow & it was sunny I take my time and wrap 'em like a mummy No Hilfiger, but I brought my Tommy! Your time is runnin' out, grab my Glock and brung it out They don't come outside 'cause they hidin', they ain't comin out Got this big MAC with a lot of fries, ain't no runnin' out I'm so motherfuckin' hot, bitches see me and start fallin' out [Outro] Gang, gang No Hook Parts 2, bitch
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