Slippin'

[Hook] 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 [Verse 1] 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’ [Hook] [Verse 2] 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 [Hook]