Bad Luck lyrics

[Production by Thelonious Martin]

(Intro)
Take your f*cking shoes off if they got mud on 'em n*gga (Yo fresh make sure you get that sh*t about the shoes my n*gga)

[Verse 1 ]
Yo, It's like the world kept spinning and b*tch n*ggas died
The Moon was full, the mood was kinda odd
I put the car in drive, turn up the light, then I spark the lye
Sport the garments that was hard to find
'Lo sport when I'm stepping out the soirée
In and out, no time to parley, right out the doorway
Seeing no need to be seen, collect and disappear
Bread, slide out the back like I was never there
Irish goodbyes, no daps for my departure
Another drug dealer turned author
Still sell work out the barber
I figure stop, why bother?
Rather toss Fifties and grams to my little mans
Hit my Patterson n*ggas off with a brick of tan
n*ggas still hustle for so and so
I had some coke, you had to cut or you would overdose
I think I might of killed a fiend when I was sixteen
But thats another story, honey bourbon roll a 40
I be higher than giraffe pus*y
Had to let off broad day at the last pus*y
[Hook]
n*gga this that murder that you ride to
Pockets full of cracks, with your burner right beside you
If a n*gga act up, oh well, bad luck
Hit him in the head, leave that pus*y n*gga dead
Or they'll do that sh*t to you, you gotta learn lil n*gga
Cause the bullets really hurt and they burn lil n*gga
So keep that sh*t in mind before they leave it on the floor
I had your moms at the church crying, screaming at the lord

[Verse 2]
n*ggas still talking fights like it's tenth grade
You can catch this hot lead before you catch fades
But don't get it f*cked up, I knocked some n*ggas out
Run and front a n*gga moms in front a n*gga house
n*gga I been with the sh*ts since like potty training
I sold crack before weed and that's a honest statement
I was smoking sour in the county jail
Microwave burnt some bread just to hide the smell
Illest young n*gga under twenty-three
By twelfth grade, n*gga moved about twenty P's
Couples times I f*cked my money up and got it back
Sometimes I thank the lord for dope and that's a honest fact
This for my n*gga bracking cards, balling, popping tags
For all my n*ggas that burn their fingers on them plastic bags
f*ck all of you other n*ggas
Might get to jumping off the stage and get to jumping n*ggas
[Hook]
n*gga this that murder that you ride to
Pockets full of cracks, with your burner right beside you
If a n*gga act up, oh well, bad luck
Hit him in the head, leave that pus*y n*gga dead
Or they'll do that sh*t to you, you gotta learn lil n*gga
Cause the bullets really hurt and they burn lil n*gga
So keep that sh*t in mind before they leave it on the floor
I had your moms at the church crying, screaming at the lord