Testo Dead People - Gucci Mane feat. Raury
Testo della canzone Dead People (Gucci Mane feat. Raury), tratta dall'album East Atlanta Santa
I got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me go get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
I got a pocket full of dead guys
Evil voices in my head telling me to watch the feds
And I love selling cake pies
It's a bad bitch in my bed and she got that stupid head
Got me Versace shawty catch me walking out of Phipps
With a lil 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
Gucci walk shit and I can talk shit
I can talk shit cause I got it
It's Gucci Mane I'm a walking lick
Got dead people in my pocket, falling off in Follies
Got a bag full of them mollies, a half a mill all profit
And my mula got her jocking
I got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me go get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
I been living like a king all week
I'm a peasant at the end of every day
I been chilling with my niggas in the streets
Living like a vagabond, wild, free, runaway
Reminiscing 'bout them boy summer days
Blowing haze on the east side of Atlanta
Making moves on a shawty a hispana
We don't speak the same language so excuse me if I stammer
I understand you wanna pick up a hammer
And build up your own shit, see your brother climbing the ladder
It's your time, yeah it's something 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 fucking craft
Make bread, get it back, give it back times two
Who are you? Look in the mirror
Don't give a fuck what they think, you the one, you the truth
Got the juice, got the juice, got the juice, got the juice
Motherfucker you the man like an eighth grade Jew
You can chew through any zebra ass in the zoo
Any nigga trying to act hard in some leather boots
Fuck them or anyone trying to step on you
Fire burning, nigga learning, stay concerning
'Bout your paper, now and later ain't really good time
For a nigga 'bout his business on Woodcrest man
I got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me go get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Got a pocket full of dead people
Evil voices in my head telling me to get this bread
Credits
Writer(s): Andre Christopher Lyon, Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Stanley Bernard Benton, Sylvester Jordan Jr.
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