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Yo Gotti - Stay Ur Distance Lyrics

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Ayy, I been quarantined 'cause I ain't fuckin' with niggas anyway
Stay your distance, pussy
Yeah, stay your distance, pussy (Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)

First week of that virus, I lost a half a mil' (five hundred)
Let's see who gon' survive and who got hustlin' skills (hustlin' skills)
Niggas still outside, they must don't think it's real (niggas still outside)
Kinda miss Southside, I wanna be in that field (wanna be in that field)
My mask Dior, your bitch just hit my phone, I just might smash her more (bye-bye)
Gave her the dick, the best night in her life, what else you askin' for?
Touch my chain, I crash of course (uh-huh)
That's one mission you had to abort
Thug life, nigga, I'm passionate for it (passionate)
Back outside, can't find the doors
Five, six Lam' trucks, five, six Cullinans (phew)

Nigga, we back outside, back outside, back outside
Nigga, we back outside
Chrome Hearts, Amiris, a million in jewelry (beep)
Nigga, I'm back outside, back outside, back outside (yeah)
Nigga, we back outside
Bitch gettin' flewed out ASAP (ASAP), if I like, then tap, tap
Shit been lit, it's 'bout that time, let them know you back outside
Back outside (back), back outside, bitch, we back outside
Back outside (back), back outside, bitch, we back outside

I don't want no handgun, I need an AK (a whole Drac')
Busted-down Patek (Patek), she bust it down, respect (respect)
She don't respect no sucker, street shit from her brother (yeah)
And if you cuff her, you gon' have to buy her that Chanel bag before you fuck her
That's on Coco
Everything Gucci, no logo
Everything platinum, no promo (promo)
Gotti won't go, my bro know, yeah, yeah (at all, at all, at all)
Pack in
No rap money, no backends
Thought he was your opp, now you're back friends (what?)
That's how a lame get done in, dummy (bah)
I want the money on the front end (front)
It's murder on all of my run-ins (on sight)
Twenty-thousand square feet, eight-figure cribs all I can live in (facts)
I'm the type follow a nigga bitch, fly her out
I'm the type pipe her up, show her life about (yeah)
She the type wife-like, but not really (really)
She match my energy (twin)
She like when I stick the thumb in her butt, go'n, let her cum on the millions (uh)
Flag on the play, bitches been wildin' out, ain't no more Wildin' Out
I got a drum like I'm Nick Cannon
I'm a street nigga, I want a Grammy (yeah)
I'ma be good, word to my granny (yeah, yeah)
Shawty ass fat just like her mammy
My bitch a job, shout to JT
Touched down in Miami, I'm on a ski
Two-tone Cuban, they eighty a piece (woo)
Bricks, spent forty a piece (woo)
Dugg want forty a verse (woo)
Big Birkin, a hunnid the purse (woo)

And we coppin' shit in the recession, nigga
Fire hoes too, you know what I'm sayin'?
Label tried to give me a new deal for the twenty mil' (what you do?)
Turn 'em down (hah)
Back and forth with the plug, talkin' about numbers
Pack on the 'Hound
Frrt, frrt, frrt, frrt
Frrt, frrt, beep, beep, beep
Frrt, frrt, frrt, frrt
Frrt, frrt, beep, beep, beep
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Published By: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written By: Mario Mims, Brytavious Lakeith Chambers