Cash Kidd - Out The Way lyrics

(Cloudy Beatz) ayy

Was finna hang that shit up? Well, nigga
Start scamming card crackin' at the Red
Rock, countin' cards, gambling
Your bitch got some fire mouth
Call her Charmander
I got her heart in my hands like Damar Hamlin
Yeah, I got your bitch whipped
Like a car jacker
Doggy in the hood fucked up
Hit the car hazards marc having his way
I'm sure you knew that though
He braggin' 'bout his bitch
I'm scared to tell him that I knew that ho
How my skinny bitch got BBW neck?
You would've thought my BBW suck me the best
Trust me, they gon' stay asleep on you 'til
You run up a check
Sauce Gardner, I was on the corner
Now we on them jets
Lacking in the opps' hood
I ain't worried about nothin'
They ain't on shit
Finna go fuck onе of they cousins
Give me likе thirty minutes tops
Know we don't 'posed to question you, but
Why I beef with dirty niggas, god?
I was so fucking poor and annoying
Let Bianca suck it all night 'cause
I got court in the morning
You know, just in case
They try to slam me for this pistol case
At least I elect to let some kids
Go play inside your bitch today
He went to court
Spilled more beans than a chili place
Nickel on me like a piggy bank
Ain't no nigga safe
I get pissed and catch a net like the NBA
Everywhere I go, my music bump like B2K
Pockets look like they
Stuffed with encyclopedias
He on Facebook hatin' on me
I'm not gon' see it
I been gettin' chicken off of rapping
It's not no pita
Just got a big invoice, I feel like Madea
Mouth glisten
Top missing while I'm top gettin'
Hope the opp don't think I'm a
Clown 'cause I ride with it
Am I tripping or did I wake
Up with one sock missing?
Plug mailed some 'bows to my
Address like prom pictures
I'm not trippin' 'bout shit as
Long as Don with me
Chains on my neck like a slave
That's why I'm picky
I said, "Head start, " bitch speared me
But, I'm not Brittney fifty on me
In the store stealing Rice Krispies
Hop out the long sleeve
Suited like a cabaret
Court side with a Cuban like
I'm at a Dallas game
I'm waitin' for a bag of
Sticks at baggage claim
45 on me like pat-a-cake
In the air with them 45s like pat-a-cake
Ho, when the pastor pray, you think of me
I'm in Cali with a throat demon, G-O-D
Got her tongue wrapped under the tip like BoB
Still sipping, feel like Bill Withers
Got lean on me
Nigga, why the fuck you cropped the
Pic? Let me see your feet
Bum nigga mad he picked a
Runner to be your peace
BeBe Kidd, rich as hell, tryna buy EBT
Nigga, yeah, ayy, keep it going, ayy, yeah
Rich as hell, tryna buy somebody food stamps
Boy, you broke as fuck
Somewhere arguing with a hood rat
Bad bitches push up on the
Kidd like this boot camp
Know I need the top off rip like Fruit Snacks
When I say I blew chips, it ain't Cool Ranch
How ironic, I be out the
Way, pockets too fat, nigga