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OUTSIDE Video (MV)






Freddy Got Magic - OUTSIDE Lyrics




[ Featuring Supa Bwe ]

(Yeah)
Yeah

I pop a molly, then f*ck 'till she tap out
I'm in the business of blowin' her back out
They just freed Vic, my nigga back out
I'm doin' deals in the back of the crack house
I got them pounds, pounds of the pack out
I'm smokin' blunt after blunt 'till I black out
I cannot f*ck wit' no ho who gon' act out
She know I'm certified, she know my background
I keep a Nina like Tekken
Shorty gon' die 'cause he don't get the reference
My niggas look at me and reverends
I don't like bare poles, I don't f*ck wit' peasants
Money make niggas pretentious
(?) lil' boy, think he got, but he fake
I don't got opps, I got targets for days
And won't hit off rounds, he just (?), ayy
F*ckin' that bitch great
Spit in that bitch face
She lovin' that shit, ayy
I smoke out the zip, not a eighth
I like my bitches with taste
F*ck wit' the switches and K's
Shut up and open the safe

We be outside
To birds sing in the morning outside
To the sunlight's, a flame in the sky
Send bread, then I'm right back outside
Know it's there if that money go dry
I got to dump it, on God
No fair fights, jump him, on God
Turn 3-point-5 soft into rock
Might turn a rap nigga into pie

These niggas don't want no problems, problems
I just be smoke, watchin' pockets
He want my blood, gotta' grow, watchin' sockets
These bitches here, let me ride 'em
Deal wit' you just for the privilege and power
I'm stackin' the racks in the towers
Smokin' exotic, you can't get the powder

We be outside
To birds sing in the morning outside
To the sunlight's, a flame in the sky
Send bread, then I'm right back outside
Know it's there if that money go dry
I got to dump it, on God
No fair fights, jump him, on God
Turn 3-point-5 soft into rock
Might turn a rap nigga into pie
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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(Yeah)
Yeah

I pop a molly, then f*ck 'till she tap out
I'm in the business of blowin' her back out
They just freed Vic, my nigga back out
I'm doin' deals in the back of the crack house
I got them pounds, pounds of the pack out
I'm smokin' blunt after blunt 'till I black out
I cannot f*ck wit' no ho who gon' act out
She know I'm certified, she know my background
I keep a Nina like Tekken
Shorty gon' die 'cause he don't get the reference
My niggas look at me and reverends
I don't like bare poles, I don't f*ck wit' peasants
Money make niggas pretentious
(?) lil' boy, think he got, but he fake
I don't got opps, I got targets for days
And won't hit off rounds, he just (?), ayy
F*ckin' that bitch great
Spit in that bitch face
She lovin' that shit, ayy
I smoke out the zip, not a eighth
I like my bitches with taste
F*ck wit' the switches and K's
Shut up and open the safe

We be outside
To birds sing in the morning outside
To the sunlight's, a flame in the sky
Send bread, then I'm right back outside
Know it's there if that money go dry
I got to dump it, on God
No fair fights, jump him, on God
Turn 3-point-5 soft into rock
Might turn a rap nigga into pie

These niggas don't want no problems, problems
I just be smoke, watchin' pockets
He want my blood, gotta' grow, watchin' sockets
These bitches here, let me ride 'em
Deal wit' you just for the privilege and power
I'm stackin' the racks in the towers
Smokin' exotic, you can't get the powder

We be outside
To birds sing in the morning outside
To the sunlight's, a flame in the sky
Send bread, then I'm right back outside
Know it's there if that money go dry
I got to dump it, on God
No fair fights, jump him, on God
Turn 3-point-5 soft into rock
Might turn a rap nigga into pie
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Frederick McCulloch-Burton, Thomas Crager
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid


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