Retch - Bad Luck lyrics

[Production by Thelonious Martin] (Intro) Take your f**ing shoes off if they got mud on 'em n***a (Yo fresh make sure you get that sh** about the shoes my n***a) [Verse 1 ] Yo, It's like the world kept spinning and b**h n***as died The Moon was full, the mood was kinda odd I put the car in drive, turn up the light, then I spark the lye Sport the garments that was hard to find 'Lo sport when I'm stepping out the soirée In and out, no time to parley, right out the doorway Seeing no need to be seen, collect and disappear Bread, slide out the back like I was never there Irish goodbyes, no daps for my departure Another drug dealer turned author Still sell work out the barber I figure stop, why bother? Better toss Fifties and grams to my little mans Hit my Patterson n***as off with a brick of tan n***as still hustle for so and so I had some coke, you had to cut or you would overdose I think I might of k**ed a fiend when I was sixteen But thats another story, honey bourbon roll a 40 I be higher than giraffe p**y Had to let off broad day at the last p**y [Hook] n***a this that murder that you ride to Pockets full of cracks, with your burner right beside you If a n***a act up, oh well, bad luck Hit him in the head, leave that p**y n***a dead Or they'll do that sh** to you, you gotta learn lil n***a Cause the bullets really hurt and they burn lil n***a So keep that sh** in mind before they leave it on the floor I had your moms at the church crying, screaming at the lord [Verse 2] n***as still talking fights like it's tenth grade You can catch this hot lead before you catch fades But don't get it f**ed up, I knocked some n***as out Run and front a n***a moms in front a n***a house n***a I been with the sh**s since like potty training I sold crack before weed and that's a honest statement I was smoking sour in the county jail Microwave burnt some bread just to hide the smell Illest young n***a under twenty-three By twelfth grade, n***a moved about twenty P's Couples times I f**ed my money up and got it back Sometimes I thank the lord for dope and that's a honest fact This for my n***a bracking cards, balling, popping tags For all my n***as that burn their fingers on them plastic bags f** all of you other n***as Might get to jumping off the stage and get to jumping n***as [Hook] n***a this that murder that you ride to Pockets full of cracks, with your burner right beside you If a n***a act up, oh well, bad luck Hit him in the head, leave that p**y n***a dead Or they'll do that sh** to you, you gotta learn lil n***a Cause the bullets really hurt and they burn lil n***a So keep that sh** in mind before they leave it on the floor I had your moms at the church crying, screaming at the lord