[Intro]
Here’s what we know
2 men and a woman came into the bank branch
Clad in black business clothing
Trench coats, bandanas, and sungla**es
They pulled guns out and ordered everyone to the floor
Then, cleaned out the registers
Hear this, they even swiped j**elry from some of the customers
[Verse 1 – El-P]
Run The Jewels
Gangster like you wake up in dickies and load the clippy
The reign of our ascension makes statisticians feel sickly
Accountants, they get snippy
They’ve never count it so quickly
God I’m up sniffing yak up off an abacus for a living
Crime authors, autobiographically ba*tards
Paint cats, put a pain in your brain batter
Style dropping the drums and stun all (?)
Small talkers get launched on, clobbered and tossed off
Knock ’em on just to get rocks off
Put a pause on all of that soft talk, chop chop
Tick tock, you got until the hands on the clock stop
I’m bagging a bag, then I’m backing out, better back off
[Hook/Chorus – El-P]
That’s why I’m outta here, baby
Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby
I’m running reds ’til I’m out of this town, baby
You want your money back? Chase me
[Verse 2 – k**er Mike]
Jewel runner, gold dripper, flow flipper
Smoke k**er, slow sipper, quick temper
Temperamental, sharp mental, departmental
Tight fellow, wouldn’t want to be him, wouldn’t want to see him
They the type, really be jealous, get’s ya hype
Oh Jesus, these n***as is polices
We gon’ shower on these pussies, they mommas gon’ know Jesus
(?) told me money, these n***as should know better
But they monkeys so you got to show junkies ain’t no let up
Bad manners, the bad manor do bad things
A bad b**h gave me bomb head to Bad Brains
The sheriff’s daughter, we be outta there ‘fore dad came
[Hook/Chorus]
That’s why I’m outta here, baby
Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby
I’m running reds ’til I’m out of this town, baby
You want your money back? Chase me
[Interlude]
You ain’t gonna get your money back
Ain’t gonna get the money, jack
You ain’t gonna get that money back
I got the bag it ain’t coming back
You ain’t gonna get your money, jack
I got the bag it ain’t coming back
You ain’t gonna get your money, jack
I got the bag
[Verse 3 – Big Boi]
Real grippers, pimp n***as with Gucci slippers
Cootchie tippers, magic city got groupie strippers
A crew of k**ers and dealers we got this newbie with us
We turn Pirellis to jellies, ex cons and former cellies
Stay on ready, foot on that very heavy
Good on (?) smelly smelly
Show some respect or you’ll get showered like parade confetti
Made man, I’m made already, nobody safe from petty
450 horse up in the Porsche, 600 in the Chevy
Buddy I’m nutty I’ve got some screws loose
And if your b**h wants some cutty, baby I choose you
Underground kings, speed and sound things
Run the sax and be aware of all your surroundings
[Hook/Chorus]
That’s why I’m outta here, baby
Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby
I’m running reds ’til I’m out of this town, baby
You want your money back? Chase me
[Outro]
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen, right now I got to tell you about the fabulous most groovy