Way Out
[Chorus]
Cinnamon seats, bass boat flakes, yeah, sprayed out
Drunk as a fool, throwing that Jim Beam back until I’m laid out
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out
Rolling country side anywhere that I go, hey now
Trunk on 'quake, cops pulling up they telling me “turn it way down”
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out
[Verse 1]
Yeah, intergalactic, out of my mind and into traffic
In a pair of Converse, tryna' climb Mount Everest with nothin' in my backpack
It’s me: A son of a bitch, a child of a prick
A stepson you don’t wanna hit
Ooo wee, no, not him, not Lil Wayne, Michael Wayne
Who you thought it would be?
Damn right, and I’m on a tightrope
Screaming out loud, "Bitch, fuck my life!"
I ain’t never give a fuck, I could never give a fuck now
So put the chain on my bike, yeah
Throw that bitch back on the sprocket, give me the pistol before you cock it
Let me throw a bullet in the clip for luck, for us
Poor us, yeah popping these, shocking, ain’t it mane?
Well, I guess nobody wants to be broke, right? Black or white
Paint the frame
‘Cause I’m only used to refusing the stereotypes of a name
I ain’t a name; I’m a soul, I’m a piece of gold
I’m a pro, I’m a piece of shit too
Do what I gotta do if I gotta roll, Guess what?
I’mma roll all over you, when I’m riding
[Chorus]
Cinnamon seats, bass boat flakes, yeah, sprayed out
Drunk as a fool, throwing that Jim Beam back until I’m laid out
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out
Rolling country side anywhere that I go, hey now
Trunk on 'quake, cops pulling up they telling me “turn it way down”
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out
[Verse 2]
Used to watch my beeper chirp, blue dickies and a black Raiders Shirt
My world was a little-bitty spot in the universe outside of Earth
Tennessee bound, Alabama born, I came down in a meteor storm
Media wrong, media write, right ‘em a wrong, ring the alarm
Duck under your desk, children go, this building is about to blow
I don’t know what I’mma do with this feeling inside of my mind and soul
I’m a one-in-a-million human show
Should've been the motherfucking Truman Show
But if you seen me getting raped as a child
You probably wouldn’t give me room to grow
Heavy blow, take a heavy sigh
Like a runner on the daily, he's high, oh my
We’ll be good, baby boy, don’t cry
I can make a boat with a book of rhymes
God made me the Cherokee like no
I can’t let the world off the hook this time
And if you didn’t want this Catfish shit
Then bitch, you should've never shook that line
Readied that hook, took this time, to press play then rewind
I would rather be drunk than be blind
To the space-age pimp shit that I combine
With what I know, rock-and-roll
I’m so famous, Country Fresh
That I can’t take one step in the fuckin’ street when I’m in public
So I get in them...
[Chorus]
Cinnamon seats, bass boat flakes, yeah, sprayed out
Drunk as a fool, throwing that Jim Beam back until I’m laid out
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out
Rolling country side anywhere that I go, hey now
Trunk on 'quake, cops pulling up they telling me “turn it way down”
Homie, I’m on my Catfish Billy shit, I’m talking way out
Dude, I’m way out, I’m talking way out