Blackout

[Intro: T.F]

Uh, look

Uh, okay, okay

(Olman80)

[Verse 1: T.F & 2 Eleven]

Uh, spazzed out, tryna figure out how I blacked out

In the traphouse with bitches doing lashes with they ass out

"Ambitionz Of A Ridah" in the background

The streets is like the octagon, if you break down, don't tap out

Niggas out here storytellin' so the police, they camped out

What happened to that old shit, hit super MACs and go max' out?

Fuck them others who let the flash out, fall face first like Pakyal

I post pics holding prop guns but it's real shit in my background

Mashed down, MAK-90 hit the backstreets and get crumbed, ayy, ayy

Hit the Eastside with the AGs and go dump, yeah, yeah

Yeah, I'm tired hanging like a bandana 'round a Crip nigga steering wheel

New brand new set of wheels, new bad bitch, hair and nails done

A1 like raw year, plenty residue dollar bills

Potting licks out at the Playa's Club, you get tied up like Dolla Bill

Yeah, I got mine out the mud, nigga, like a lean-head popping seals

I said I got mine out the mud, nigga, leaving yellow tape, popping shells (Yeah, uh)

[Verse 2: 2 Eleven & Conway the Machine]

Fresh out of jail, got it hot as hell

Retaliation, nigga, might as well

Yeah, my young nigga get a lot of kills, ah

Busting missions out of Boneville

With the cocaine, I made a lot of seals

With the proceeds off a clientele

Bought a hundred guns with a lot of shells

Get the opposition, nigga, slide to hell

Had to show these niggas I could rap-rap

Made a half a milli' out the trap-trap

But the kitchen table like a tat-tat

With the .38, nigga, blap-blap

Young Gunna, no slatt-slatt

With a couple screws like I'm Fat Pack

Rolls Royce, nigga, matte black

After this verse, it's a wrap-wrap

Bleed niggas like I missed 'em

Mike Amiri jeans, spent a Crip on 'em

Chopping blocks like a Flintstone

I'm mixin' dog with the fentanyl

All blood money getting rinsed off

With the royalties from residuals

They side, they love us but I'm dissing 'em

Flipping hoes, that's original

Shitting on 'em, that's intentional

All these rap niggas ain't original

Every single one sound similar

I can't pick and choose who to listen to

I cook waves, we flooding 'em, nigga

Competition, we fuckin' 'em

Every four hunnid, forty-eight grams

Make sure we gon' double up, ah

Twenty-five bands four times

Nigga damn near ran a hunnid up

They should've never gave them niggas no money

Knowing they was finna run 'em up, ah

Fuck it up, but then fuck it off

Niggas having money, I can't tell

Give a fuck about no government

Them niggas politic theyself, yeah (Yeah)

[Verse 3: Conway the Machine]

Spazzed out, whole lot of Vs lining up at the back house (Ha)

Told 'em wait 'til you all the way behind the gate before you pull your cash out (Ha)

Put a little extra baking soda in the pot and get another half out (When?)

You only got one body, nigga, that ain't really shit to brag 'bout (Ha)

I can push the button right now, I can get a couple niggas scratched out (Brr)

Like I'm a waxing menace, we gon' smoke them niggas, then we gon' stab out (Ayy, I'm stabbed out)

I heard he had your spot mapped up

Got your bitch tied up with a gagged mouth

Went in the closet, took that bag out (Where it's at, bitch?)

Put all the pounds in the Hefty, look like we taking trash out (Haha)

If it's pressure, we spin and we ain't gon' let it drag out (Brr)

Told that bitch to put up that plate and don't leave them bags out

Where I'm from you can't put up your peace, it's getting bad out (It's bad)

But I'm a straight goon, doing push-ups and holding us in a dayrun (Ha)

Your turn to eat comin', but it ain't soon (It's my turn)

I'm cooking up, the downstairs neighbors can smell the yay fumes (Hahaha)

I stacked so much money that I'm running out of safe room (Ha)

[Outro: Conway the Machine]

Machine, haha, yeah