Dead People

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread

[Verse 1: Gucci Mane]

Got a pocket full of dead guys

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to watch the feds

And I love sellin' cake pies

It's a bad bitch in my bed and she got that stupid head

Got me Versace, shop, shawty, catch me walkin' out of 5ths

With a lit Glock 40 and a couple extra clips

Lenox Mall in the closet, all my hoes exotic

And ain't that shit ironic that my doors go up, robotic?

I can walk the shit and I can talk the shit

I can talk the shit cause I got it

It's Gucci Mane, I'm a walkin' lick

Got dead people in my pocket

Fallin' off in Follie's, got a bag full of the mollies

A half a mil' off profit, and my Muller got her jockin'

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread

[Verse 2: Raury]

I've been livin' like a king all week

I'm a peasant at the end of every day

I've been chillin' with my niggas in the streets

Livin' like a vagabond, wild, free, run away

Reminiscin' 'bout them bored summer days

Blowin' haze on the east side of Atlanta

Makin' moves on the shawty, a Hispania

We don't speak the same language so excuse me if I stammer

I understand you wanna pick up  the hammer

And build up your own, she see her brother climbin' the ladder

It's your time, yeah it's somethin' that you figure

I mean you can do it too but you can't be a bitch ass nigga

Get up off your ass, find a fuckin' craft

Make bread, get it back, give it back times 2

Who are you? Look in the mirror

Don't give a fuck what they think, you're the one, you're the truth

Got the juice, got the juice, got the juice, got the juice

Mothafucka you the man like an 8th grade Jew

You can chew through any zebra ass in the zoo

Any nigga tryna act hard as some leather boots, fuck them

And anyone tryna step on you, fire burnin'

Nigga learnin', stay concernin' bout your paper

Now and later ain't really good time

For a nigga 'bout his business on Wood Crest Manor

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread

I got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread

Got a pocket full of dead people

Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread