Huey Knew

Ab-Soul

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    Check it out, hey
    This is a story all about how
    My life got flipped, turned upside down
    And if you roll another blunt and keep your mouth shut
    I'll tell you how I became the wicked nigga they call Young Mind Fuck
    Black out, black out
    (Youngin' from Del Amo)
    Black out, black out
    (Belt by Ferrigamo)
    Black out, black out, black out, yeah

    Ay, black out
    They speak highly of me when I raise my voice
    I gotta shoot a fucking free throw to make my point
    My wittiness leave 'em stuck in the wilderness
    You need a backwood to roll to this joint
    I'm Robin Hood in Robin jeans, you follow me?
    Never mind I'm tired of tight analogies
    Still in pursuit of happiness in the midst of the madness
    With middle fingers to bitches with badges that go oink
    (Yeah! Yeah!)
    I'm on the fence with Common Sense
    My logic is sound, talk of the 90746

    No shit, Sherlock
    Remind 'em of Han Solo on the battlefront
    Everybody behind Soulo and they backin' up
    I just threw my two-step, let her back it up
    Go on back it up, go on back it up
    You dry snitchin', I'm sliding in something moist
    You annoy these women, I anoint these women
    You stressin' on my schedule and appointment with 'em
    They let me cut so much, I bring ointment nigga
    I'm lubricant slick baby
    I'm hornier than the brass section of the band, you understand?
    Pick your poison, it's your choice
    Hey, I'm just a youngin from Del Amo
    (Lil homie from the hood)
    Yeah, with a belt by Ferragamo
    (Yeah bitch I look good)

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    Hey, just doing want I wanna
    This ain't marijuana, please don't tell my mama
    I'ma black out, black out, black out, black out
    You telling white lies while I black out
    Black out, black out, black out, black out
    Pale white horse when I black out
    Black out, black out, black out, black out
    Spark the white lighter then I black out
    Even white lives matter when I black out
    Bucket of black paint in-front the white house nigga
    Yeah! Yeah!

    I hope I'm in Obama's iPod
    Yeah, 'fore I had a desktop
    Was looking for a shortcut to be an icon
    But this time it's for the money my nigga
    Me and the Ichabod Don got itchy palms
    And I just left Emmet's with a jar and a intercom
    I'ma act an ass and have a donkey to pin it on
    I'm winning no matter what the decision's depending on
    I'm sinister, picture a ticking bomb in the Pentagon
    The typical shit I've been on, remember the pen is gone
    Your pinnacle's penny pinching, I'm getting nickels for my thoughts
    Like Slim Shady in Balmain jeans
    Difficult to say I'm vision impaired, all I seen
    I'm Yamborghini High, A$AP M-O-B
    Your 16 is pint sized to me
    Hey, I'm just a youngin from Del Amo
    (Lil homie from the hood)
    Hey, with a belt by Ferragamo
    (Yeah bitch I look good)

    Hey, just doing want I wanna
    This ain't marijuana, please don't tell my mama
    I'ma black out, black out, black out, black out
    You telling white lies while I black out
    Black out, black out, black out, black out
    Pale white horse when I black out
    Black out, black out, black out, black out
    Spark the white lighter then I black out
    Even white lives matter when I black out
    Bucket of black paint in-front the white house nigga
    Young, no shame, Kurt Cobain, bastard son
    With a gun in palm, money, pussy, crime sitting on my mind
    No emotion, orange bottles how I deal with mine
    Cracking bannies, only time a nigga cross the line
    Wrong hand signs'll turn a function to Columbine
    Yeah, So, B.O. b's top gunner

    Front runner, never die clique, the thing you are not brother
    Polo Ralph Lauren is keeping the Glock covered
    Pour up medication by the brick
    Sipping oil like we're tryna sink a ship
    So, Teag, uppers and the downers in the mix
    Now the film heads talking 'bout a script
    Living my days is a gamble
    I guess that's the perks of the set, bet
    Ain't nothing certain but dirt that bitch wearing that skirt
    So I guess that I'm flirting with death
    Need the type of cash cow to get Trump whacked out
    Here's the question you should ask
    What's the Soul without the Da$H
    Never had the option I could back out
    If it's 'bout the cash then I act out

    Black out, black out
    Black out, black out
    Black out, black out
    Black out, black out
    Yeah, So

    Información de la canción

    Composición: Da$h y Herbert Anthony Stevens IV

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