Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dead People, artist - Gucci Mane. Date of issue: 27.07.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Dead People |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead guys |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to watch the feds |
| And I love sellin' cake pies |
| It’s a bad bitch in my bed and she got that stupid head |
| Got me Versace, shop, shawty, catch me walkin' out of 5ths |
| With a lit Glock 40 and a couple extra clips |
| Lenox Mall in the closet, all my hoes exotic |
| And ain’t that shit ironic that my doors go up, robotic? |
| I can walk the shit and I can talk the shit |
| I can talk the shit cause I got it |
| It’s Gucci Mane, I’m a walkin' lick |
| Got dead people in my pocket |
| Fallin' off in Follie’s, got a bag full of the mollies |
| A half a mil' off profit, and my Muller got her jockin' |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |
| I’ve been livin' like a king all week |
| I’m a peasant at the end of every day |
| I’ve been chillin' with my niggas in the streets |
| Livin' like a vagabond, wild, free, run away |
| Reminiscin' 'bout them bored summer days |
| Blowin' haze on the east side of Atlanta |
| Makin' moves on the shawty, a Hispania |
| We don’t speak the same language so excuse me if I stammer |
| I understand you wanna pick up the hammer |
| And build up your own, she see her brother climbin' the ladder |
| It’s your time, yeah it’s somethin' that you figure |
| I mean you can do it too but you can’t be a bitch ass nigga |
| Get up off your ass, find a fuckin' craft |
| Make bread, get it back, give it back times 2 |
| Who are you? |
| Look in the mirror |
| Don’t give a fuck what they think, you’re the one, you’re the truth |
| Got the juice, got the juice, got the juice, got the juice |
| Mothafucka you the man like an 8th grade Jew |
| You can chew through any zebra ass in the zoo |
| Any nigga tryna act hard as some leather boots, fuck them |
| And anyone tryna step on you, fire burnin' |
| Nigga learnin', stay concernin' bout your paper |
| Now and later ain’t really good time |
| For a nigga 'bout his business on Wood Crest Manor |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |
| I got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me go get this bread |
| Got a pocket full of dead people |
| Evil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread |