| We riding high
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| Can’t give no more fux
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| I just ran out
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| Drink up all the whiskey, we done drank the bar dry (Dry)
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| Smoked all the weed up, can’t get no more high (High)
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| Yeah, I’m super numb but I feel so alive (Alive)
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| In the back of my truck looking up at the sky, ayy
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| Somebody tell 'em get ready man
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| I’m on a whole 'nother level
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| Don’t kill my buzz, let me just vibe
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| Ain’t going nowhere, I’m too wasted to drive
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| Stop all that talking, you blowin' my hype
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| Please don’t go wasting all of my supply
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| I’m going crazy, look at stars
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| Shoot for them things and land a high five
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| We riding high
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| Can’t give no more fux
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| I just ran out
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| I made a killing all up in the kitchen was slipping them chickens
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| And I had to watch everyone of my homies get man
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| For twenty a sentence
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| I had to switch it up, pick up the mic
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| Do something different, and change up my life
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| Now I’m on charts and doing it right
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| Living a crazy one hell of a life
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| I can be anywhere, look where I landed
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| I’m taking off, all these others are stranded
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| We made a company, look how we branded
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| Now we all pouring up glasses of brandy
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| get it up out of the mud
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| No wonder why everyone’s showing us love
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| We ain’t the ones to sweep under the rug
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| We come for the crown so pour this shit up
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| Eight miles down that red clay road (Clay road)
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| To a place where the cops don’t go (Don't go)
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| Riding four-by-fours, drop it low (Drop it low)
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| Round up all the girls that we know
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| We riding high
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| Can’t give no more fux
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| I just ran out
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| Eight mile down a dirt road
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| I think I wound up in Heaven (Heaven)
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| I’m taking too many shots, man
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| I shoulda ended at seven (Seven)
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| Party ended at 11
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| Drank too many, '57 Chevies (Yeah)
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| I should’ve stopped with the Crown
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| Now, damn, who’s driving my Chevy? |
| (what?)
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| I’m in the passenger seat (Seat)
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| Fading in and out
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| Music way too fucking loud
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| Somebody turn it down (Down)
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| I think I’m blacking out
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| There ain’t no backing out (Nah)
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| I’m already committed now
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| So I’m packing a Black & Mild
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| Eight miles down that red clay road (Clay road)
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| To a place where the cops don’t go (Don't go)
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| Riding four-by-fours, drop it low (Drop it low)
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| Round up all the girls that we know
|
| We riding high
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| Can’t give no more fux
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| I just ran out |