Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Away, artist - Termanology. Date of issue: 08.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Get Away |
| Fresh off tour, been on the road for a whole year |
| Back to back, beer-liquor-beer, beer-liquor-beer |
| Hangover, headache, let my dome ventilate |
| Reflect on the disrespectful words that I said to Jake |
| Last night, too bent, runnin' off at the mouth |
| Drunk words, sober thoughts, easier to spit it out |
| Feelin' like I need a vacay, been up for 8 days |
| Stage after stage, afterparty, parade |
| Let me explain, baby girl my energy’s drained |
| I ain’t tryna fuck, just give me head and I’m straight |
| I need a king sized bed, four pillows and a comforter |
| Drunk textin' baby mama, guess I’m still in love with her |
| Really you be stressed when you’re down on your last |
| And you gotta choose, buy food or buy gas |
| Tryna get away, somewhere there’s less lava |
| Reminiscin' on bein' a getaway driver |
| Stupid shit, hustlin', shootouts, movin' bricks |
| Fuck that, I’m tryna relax and kick back |
| So I feel I gotta |
| Get away (x8) |
| From the most humble of beginnings |
| Where 4−5s tumble in the scrimmage |
| I made it out the button of my ending |
| My getaway was out of the norm from what the leisurely do |
| Cause for me, OG was worth a Jeter or 2 |
| And still corner store Sky, still scams over everything |
| Rookie year, hands built to get a ring, word to first blunts |
| Cuttin' class, first wifey, she was nuttin' fast |
| Never bragged about who I tagged, always wore a bag |
| On my dick, pants sag on my kicks |
| OG 3s or royal Foams, them fatigue shits is lame |
| I grew up around the corner where they squeeze before they aim |
| And then they explain it later, pissin' in elevators was my usual |
| Now I’m more MCM suitable |
| My fan base is part time models with corner cubicles |
| I get away with one of my supporters at the show |
| If you seen her, you’d get why I forever wanna go and get away |
| Sometimes I gotta get away, put the mic down, I don’t spit today |
| Hardly smoke, but I need a spliff today, Henny cup sip today |
| Just kick back, not doin' shit today |
| Might cop some fits and some kicks today |
| Go see the Knicks today, they play the Celts, need some tix today |
| Bet Term and Reks for some chips today |
| Might text your chick today, she been beggin' to give your shit away |
| Second thought, nah, that’s no getaway |
| I need some Hathaway, castaway |
| Treat a Wednesday like a Saturday |
| Drama go thataway, commas move thataway |
| It’s more money, more problems |
| But with no money ain’t no way to solve 'em |
| I’d rather revolve 'em than involve 'em, be a slave or be a sovereign |
| Get away cause any day could be your coffin |
| And that’s why every often I be loftin' |
| Of course the caution’s important |
| But I just transported, now I’m resortin' |
| Guess my last resort was to |
| This that next day effect, when you recollect on yesterday’s ills |
| Remorse, and mornin' after pills |
| Room spinnin', consume Henn and resume sinnin' |
| To the tomb of the dude Devin, what a job it is spendin' |
| 45 days in the sky, gettin' away, never comin' down |
| Down, off that loud high cloud, nah |
| Chasin' everlastin' dollar signs half the time |
| In an unfamiliar zone, home away from home |
| I’m prime, prolific, after rhymin' for some undisclosed digits |
| Flow vintage as old St. Nicholas' |
| Drownin' out the toasters and the biscuits |
| Globe travelin', establishment of money masterin' |
| Witness, dynasty buildin' international, appealin' to the masses |
| Where winners and survivors raise glasses |
| Arrival of the Massachusetts chapters, and G.O.A.Ts |
| Hope to see you somewhere hangin' from the rafters |
| Word up |