Yo Gotti - Buy Out (2013)

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Yo Gotti - Buy Out lyrics

A hundred miles and running, niggers going at the end of me
Niggers switching sides, give me nothing like it’s the end of me.
Niggers having family, but I know these niggers into me.
Pown me, thug it to the motherfucker sin is me.
Imma train the topic time down, bitch, I’m riding in a ‘rarri.
If you don’t like me, than I’m sorry.
I ain’t og, I’m just being me, fucking pretty clear.
I rap about this shit, ‘cause I did it.
Life don’t change, neither do the game,
Niggers getting money, but the rules stay the same.
Who I’m gonna sound with, who I wanna ground with?
That’s my only question, nigger, see ‘em G I’m down with.
Cocaine mirrors, cold money guns, every nigger I fuck with with the g I make them bun,
So I never leave the house without my chain on my gut,
Got on my old boy Gucci so I fresh pearl once.

See, nigger, see, I feel like I wanna release, nigger,
I got to face earth, you know what I mean?
And then I got nothing to do and get no money
And that, nigger, that be a hundred.
That be a hundred with yourself, that be a hundred with the niggers,
A hundred with you, you know what I mean?
Man, I got a lot of young nigger around me, nigger,
And that’s straight of low life family, nigger, could kill for each other,
That thing is real.

Murder was the case, nigger, jump a hoardal with a race nigger, down
Then I put it in your face, to the face, on my case, nigger,
Told my lawyer go to trial, I’m doing it big in the meanwhile.
If I lose, place a riot for me, if I die don’t stay fire for me,
Pour on some liquor and get higher for me,
I’m doing this thing for my home boys,
I have it, oh, lord, so surely can avoid.
I came here speaking from my heart for some time around
Am I a real rapper or just a nigger on lands?
I don’t know, I’m confused, do I suppose to be rich?
You know that hoe ain’t your hoe, she’s your supposed to be bitch.
No supposed to be clip, I want no allias,
You see ‘em G, homie and we don’t franchise.
I get green gas off the whipe ass, don’t get in that pot
And he get bout time.
Hallelujah, bless my shooters, serve my jazle, watch him hit that shooter.
Fuck that rap shit, I don’t fit in,
How they fuck boys, how they fake friends.
Streets on fire, plug on gold mode, streets so damn dry, I might get a truck load.
Fuck your country, I won’t sign it, labels keep calling me, but I don’t call back.