Hear Me Out Lyrics


Give me your—
Oh, baby, give me your—
Oh, I like it when you—
Give me your—

I was tryna rap a lot, but I was slangin’ rocks
Hangin’ crops ’round the block since panda pops
All these nigga hatin’ on me
Tell them, “Don’t make it awkward” when I fucked his mate like a tree (Uh)
Lookin’ like I got-on a neon chain
More green in my videos than Tion Wayne
They wanna ask pictures, and that 911 exhaust smokin’ Marges sisters
Opps don’t glide, they just hide when I see ’em
I got haze eye, bitches tryna slide in my DM, uh
I was only fifteen when I had a Rollie
Cookin’ squarеs in the kitchen, they ain’t ravioli
I-I don’t need a rеcord deal ’cause shit piles
You niggas blow the advance before the ink dries
I’m paranoid with all this food in the basement
Me and my nigga W come like Lulu and Ace, uh (My nigga)
I pull up in that AMG
You bring that bitch, Nova cough, had that chicken, KFC
I made it out the hood, I’m inspirin’ the youth
Everytime I throw a party, I got snipers on the roof (Uh)
N-North West ballers, I get so much dome in my studio, that it’s literally the headquarters
Remeniscin’ in the Tesla how I made them fiends crack smiles when I was givin’ out testers
Gettin’ money, I ain’t maintainin’
I’m runnin’ through these bricks like Harry Potter at the train station
I go any block, I don’t care how far
So much goons hoppin’ out the whip, look like a Crown Co
I had fears of bein’ broke with a can of beer
Now look, now I’m a millionaire with nappy hair
This chick’s on me to beat, but I ain’t hear ‘case she been through more bodies than Mystique
I’m a Stoic, can’t alter my mood, fuck the opp block
I still drive through like I’m orderin’ food
And I ain’t partyin’ without my straddy in the venue
Kush gang, bitch, hella Calis on the menu
They sayin’ they prefer the old me, then go listen to the old me, ’cause now, I’m an OG (Uh)
J-Jordan 4s or designers on my feet
Fuck a MBE, I was knighted on the street
I got to Hell if my niggas is there
I blew a mill’ in a year, it’s cool, though I’m still a millionaire
Last time we topped the charts, they thought it was luck
This time, we did it again, what the fuck?
Speedin’ in my new hot car, wanna wrap with me?
Meet me on a roof-top bar (Uh)
How come I’m hardly on the strip, now, I’m gone clear
Certain rappers fell off, me, I’m still top tier
Remember when the strip was my office
Ain’t no workers ’round me, I got a clique full of bosses
And— That’s enough, man

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