Slippin - Waka Flocka Flame

Don’t let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'

Don’t let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'

Caught a nigga slippin' outside of the parkin' lot

Young nigga popped his chain and ran in his pockets

No mask so you know who got it

But you scared to get it back cause you know they 'bout it

Don’t let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'

Don’t let me catch you slippin', don’t let me catch you slippin'

Cause you move to Hollywood you ain’t good out there

Send the Pirus get your shit took out there

Bring a nigga shit straight back to Atlanta

Now them Clay County niggas got kush out there

Heard he in the H, I call J. Prince Jr

You ain’t from the streets you just rap a lot, nigga

Booked for a show in the middle of the hood

You ain’t good out there, this is Chi-Town, nigga

Asshole by nature, fuck it I’m Trae

Run that chain, nigga, like it’s a relay

You really pussy that’s what the streets say

Fuck who you know nigga, you gotta pay

Out in PA, fuckin' with cook

Heard your favorite rapper got his AP took

I’m seein' green dots, puttin' money on books

If he broke he hatin' young nigga get money

Fuckin' with the white girl, Playboy bunny

Got them niggas lookin' funny have them runnn' in your shit

Caught 'em slippin' pumpin' gas, nigga you a sweet leak

Got robbed by the bloods now you runnin' with the crips — Nah

You niggas ain’t bool

Imma call troop, he gon' call big you

Now the guns all on you nigga deja vu

You a question mark gangster — DJ Clue

For that Cuban link chain and that big Rolex

You in the wrong scenario — Tribe Called Quest

On the jet boy mission all our clips got extensions

Tryin' to hold onto your chain, you gon' end up missin'

I got shooters in the D, I ain’t talkin' bout the Pistons

Grand Theft Auto, send them homies on a mission

Pay yo' ass a visit braggin' bout your low ticket

Shoulda kept your mouth closed, now we know your business

Lyin' on your crib like an infant, kill you in an instant

I want the shit for the chicken, I just hit a sweet lick, Charlie Sheen we

winnin'

Ten toes down with the yoppa, I’m a beast

No V-103 like Greg I’m street

Don’t give up the money, then it’s RIP

Sendin' head shots like the DMV

Half asleep, split your wig like the red sea

Got stripes in the street like a referee

Have a nigga runnin' like a refugee

Show you how to rob, got the recipe

Do your homework, find out where he be at

Where he hide the money put the D at

Run up in yo' shit we gon' seize that

Then break it down on the g pad

Better be, boo you don’t need that

Waka Flocka Flame catch me hangin' where the G’s at

Rob a dope boy, I ain’t worryin' 'bout prison

Can’t call the police 'bout them bricks in the kitchen