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outy when i drive / blamed - chris brown lyrics

part i: outy when i drive

[intro]
cashmoneyap
everything foreign, n-gga

[verse 1: rich the kid]
ooh
bougie, sh-t tell ’em back back (back back)
runnin’ around with the rat pack (huh)
that -ss too fat, tell her back back (what)
ain’t doing no talkin, the choppa got kick back (blat)
ooh, ooh
she won’t be my boo (my boo)
i was broke, now i got b-tches in my coupe (huh)
me and breezy, 50 hoes, by the group (by the group)
that’s yo’ b-tch, she told a lie, ain’t told the truth, ooh (ain’t told the truth)
i get her gone
f-ck her once, she won’t pick up the phone (what?)
i send her home (home)
give me the dome, give me the dome

[chorus: chris brown]
high-y, high-y, high
i’ma fly, i’ma flatline
outy when i drive
bring me up, b-tch, on both sides
broke n-ggas always minus, wearin’ designer
see me, i beat it out the line and it’ll f-ck ya spine up
high-y, high-y, high
yeah, baby, flatline
outy when i drive, flatline
high-y, high-y, high
yeah, baby, flatline
outy when i drive
b-tch, on both sides

[verse 2: chris brown]
when i do the dash, b-tch, i swear that they mouth wide
hunnids, countin’ cash in a pair of them off-whites
you need to bring your -ss over here
if your n-gga wanna fight, b-tch, come outside
i’m off this hennessy, too many shots
don’t give a f-ck
ain’t no excuses for bein’ belligerent, just give me the bottle
stop thinkin’ about it, ’til i’m on the floor
switchin’ lanes, caught in the paint, off the backboard
ain’t no way i’ma change, p-ssy got me goin’

[verse 3: yella beezy]
i say vroom, vroom
808s gon’ make your body shake
look b-tch boom, boom
and when i get you
i’ll knock that p-ssy to the moon, moon
if he trippin’, grab that smith
and i’ma knock his brain loose
do what you do
these hatin’ n-ggas got it bad
n-gga talkin’ tough into my lil’ condo, and shot his -ss
and if you mention me, then you gon’ end up in a body bag
lil’ mama, i ain’t tryna f-ck you, you ain’t got a lot of -ss
i need a lot of that, yeah-yeah

part ii: blamed

[interlude]
your call cannot be completed as dialed
please check the number and dial again
or dial 6-1-1

[intro: chris brown]
don’t play me to the left, no
‘fore i pull up with that thing on me
i’m shootin’, aimin’ for the neck
and ain’t n0body finna bang on me

[verse 1: sage the gemini]
ayy, i just check my bank account, i’m goin’ dumb as f-ck
i point her in the right direction, tell her, “run it up”
i put her in the louis line, n-gga, one-to-ones
but we don’t fight
i take this .40 off my waist just like a tummy tuck
i don’t speak much unless it’s money, so
if they don’t know me personal, then i don’t take it personal
they love you when you wins high, let you know (let you know)
but when your wins low, they treat you like a urkel
i learn that family don’t always matter (yeah, whoa)
i send these shots around your dome, now you silent (yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah)
ayy, i’m just tryna buy me a big place (big place)
i’m just tryna buy me a lawyer, help me beat the case
i’m just tryna f-ck you, let you lead the way (the way)
and if we can’t make it to the bed, do it on the way

[chorus: chris brown]
don’t play me to the left, no
‘fore i pull up with that thing on me
i’m shootin’, aimin’ for the neck, oh
and ain’t n0body finna bang on me
i got your b-tch, she coming over (woo!)
she gon’ bring her friend too (woo!)
they gon’ pop and bend it over (woo!)
like that p-ssy brand new
get her an uber when it’s over
f-ck that, just hop up in the coupe
what you gon’ do?
’cause you can’t really put the blame on us

[verse 2: chris brown]
if there’s a problem, i’ma pop up, i’ma shoot out the roof
you need to stop it ‘fore i make your mama really miss you
ain’t throwin’ spirals, really big bullets and a couple missiles
i hit your b-tch up that friday and i told her to choose
she told me, “yeah, we on for the nightcap”
i know your n-gga won’t like that
get his cap k!lled in his life jack’
that’s why i don’t take a day off
hustle like every day is the playoffs
d-mn right, we f-ckin’ winnin’
don’t like me, f-ck your feelings (feelings)
money up to the ceilin’ (ceilin’)
smoke weed, i’m up there with it (there with it)
like murder, make a k!llin’
see murder for no limit
white people in my business
black women give me kisses
with all these snitches, it ain’t safe no more (no more)
n-ggas sayin’ names and they showin’ up to court (court)
i’ma take a shot, have one newport
before i light this b-tch up and shoot it off the backboard
you got me f-cked up

[verse 3: rich the kid]
(ooh, huh, huh, huh)
i might slide in it (slide in it)
i like bad b-tches (bad)
bentley 350s (skrrt)
i got three with me (ooh)
it’s a blame game (blame game)
let my chains sw-ng (sw-ng)
i don’t know her name (what?)
all these hoes the same (yeah)
she want chanel on her (chanel)
birkin bags, she was rackin’ sale on ’em (ooh)
i got the nail on her
f-ckin’ friends and she think i’ma tell her (ooh)
in my coupe, i got two
n-ggas mad i got the juice
i’ma smash on your boo (smash)
i got cash on me too
she won’t play me to the left
i’m a rich n-gga to death (death)
she gon’ pull up with the neck
boss up for a check (check)
know he want her
she got red bottoms on her (on her)
if i f-ck her two times, she a goner (huh)

[chorus: chris brown]
don’t play me to the left, no
‘fore i pull up with that thing on me
i’m shootin’, aimin’ for the neck, oh
and ain’t n0body finna bang on me
i got your b-tch, she coming over
she gon’ bring her friend too
they gon’ pop and bend it over
like that p-ssy brand new
get her an uber when it’s over
f-ck that, just hop up in the coupe
what you gon’ do?
’cause you can’t really put the blame on us

- chris brown lyrics

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