Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Last Day Out, artist - Rio Da Yung OG. Date of issue: 11.04.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Last Day Out |
| What up, Marc Boomin? |
| You know what’s up, you know |
| This my last day out, you know what I’m sayin'? |
| I’m, I’ma go 'head kick it with y’all, show you how I’m livin' right quick, |
| though |
| I’ll be right back, though |
| That shit ain’t shit |
| This my last day out, I’m finna jump fresh |
| Pull a hundred K out, go to the set |
| It’ll be God if I find a pint of Hi-Tech |
| Gotta go out with a bang on my last sip |
| Still got BMI checks I ain’t cash yet |
| YouTube checks rollin' in, I ain’t even check |
| I wasn’t paranoid at all, I ain’t even sweat |
| Twenty racks on the floor right now, I’ma need that |
| Three years and eight months, I’ll be right back |
| Quarter million put up, I could sleep like that |
| But I’m really nervous, though, I can’t even cap |
| I just bought my second crib and BM got the 'Lac |
| Probably finna sell my 550, snatch off the wrap |
| I can make a hundred racks quick, I just gotta rap |
| I know I’m out on fed bond, but I got a strap |
| I got too many chains on, I ain’t tryna scrap |
| Dick her down off a Perc', made her wobble back |
| I think I need to go to church, wher my mama at? |
| Gotta spend some time with my granny, whre Big Mama at? |
| I should bring her to the studio to watch me rap |
| Your grandbaby doin' good, just made another hundred |
| My mama lost me to the state, me and my lil' brother |
| Baby Ghost, I told you to chill, we gotta get some money |
| Just think about when mama used to make us split a hundred |
| We gon' be straight, though, I feel it in my stomach |
| I dicked her down, bitch say she feel it in her stomach |
| I might turn myself in in a Prada jumper |
| Just know when I get out, a helicopter comin' |
| Man, them bitches hit your baby with conspiracy |
| Took the blame for a phone call, it wasn’t really me |
| Them bitches grabbed, me, Ty, A, Lee, and my nigga C |
| Talkin' 'bout the fuckin' City Boys, are you kiddin' me? |
| I don’t even know them niggas in my paperwork |
| And I ain’t sayin' nobody snitchin' unless I see the paper first |
| Yeah, I knocked the bitch out, but I maced her first |
| 'Member stuntin' at the gas station tryna take a purse |
| Now I’m freestylin', drinkin' cough syrup, takin' Percs |
| Yeah, I’ll post your mixtape, you gotta pay me first |
| I know my fans probably mad I gotta leave 'em |
| But I’ma still drop heat, y’all gotta stream it |
| Even though it’s gon' be a while 'fore y’all see me |
| I’m comin' back ten times harder, guarantee it |
| What kind of diamonds in your chain? |
| I can’t see 'em |
| I got some Cookie loads 'round, they eighteen-ish |
| Plea agreement came in, I ain’t read it |
| Just give me all the time y’all want to, 'cause I ain’t see shit |
| Just 'cause he got thirty months don’t mean he snitched |
| If you ain’t see the evidence, then you can eat dick |
| Forty-four months seem long, but it’s gon' be quick |
| I might not even call a bitch 'til week six |
| Can’t be mad, 'cause I signed up for this street shit |
| Got it out the mud, I do not accept free shit |
| Y’all gon' miss me, though? |
| Man, they lyin' if they say Da Yung OG ain’t put the city on |
| When you locked up, they’ll treat you like you dead and gone |
| Little do they know I’m comin' home to a letter, bro |
| Like an M or somethin' |
| And my bitch textin' me like the dinner done |
| Man, the opps cliqued up, I bought a bigger gun |
| Seventeen-five just to get the kitchen done |
| Bullets in the .308 look like a little thumb |
| Alright, I got so much sauce on me like a chicken nugget |
| Dior B22s off the prison jumper |
| I’ma be gone for a minute, but my niggas comin' |
| My niggas comin' harder than ever |
| Yeah, my niggas finna go hard |
| Ghetto Boyz, bitch, on the yard, I’ma bogard |
| Probably got fifty, sixty racks in my Goyard |
| Nigga, you do not own a crib, you ain’t— |
| How the fuck you own a crib, you stuntin' an AP, you ain’t got no yard? |
| Ayy, I’ll be right back, though, look |
| Ghetto Boyz in this bitch, nigga, free the whole ghetto |
| Free C, free A, free Ri, free T, you know what I’m sayin' |
| My nigga Peezy back, Mike gon' hold this shit down |
| Louie gon' hold this shit down |
| I got the Coochie Man |
| Nigga, my best friends are fuckin' talented entertainment |
| Y’all gotta, ayy, y’all gotta deal with us |
| Nigga, even when I’m gone, y’all gon' have to deal with me, 'cause I’m still |
| puttin' pressure down |
| And I’m givin' you niggas a chance to catch back up, goddamnit |
| I’m finna go, go down, lay down, go to sleep for three years, eight months |
| Get some rest |
| 'Cause when I come home, the pressure back on |
| I’m back not sleepin', I’m back in the studio on you niggas' head |
| I’m back droppin' chains and watches and new cars |
| Y’all niggas got three years to catch up, bro, I’m tellin' you |
| Shit on the floor, Ghetto Boyz |
| Let me hear that shit, Water, from the jump |