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letra de out the mud - d-lo

[intro: d-lo]
ayy, work, n-gga, what’s happenin’?
it’s your n-gga d-lo, bruh
ah, d-lo, look, d-lo, ah

[verse 1: d-lo]
i just seen death in front of my eyes but i escaped that sh-t again
just put a tuck spot in the rental ’cause i can’t go back to the pen
i was slippin’, how the f-ck i let him shoot me in my head, man?
shh, i’m speakin’ thoughts from a dead man
can’t take this money with me to my grave so i’ma f-ck it off
my lil’ n-gga sick, put him on a l!ck, but he trucked it off
i’m speakin’ all facts, n-gga, i don’t f-ck with rats, n-gga
ask the sucker side how we slid and hit that fat n-gga
i’m a pimp, baby girl, i could never make it rain on you
backpage gone, man, i really got some game for your
bounced out of jail without a dollar, now i’m like fifty up
all these glocks, man, it took me thirty minutes to load this fifty up
told my mama don’t trip, finna buy you that whip
but first i gotta check this dough before i fire this b-tch
got the devil on my -ss, i can’t let him stop these blessings, look
fightin’ off this monkey, sippin’ syrup, i was stressin’

[chorus: work dirty]
out the mud, you know i had to get it out the mud
i’m stressin’ so i’m prayin’ for my blessing from above
see where i’m from, for sure gotta keep some’ on me
never ride by my lonely, steady gangin’ with the brodies
out the mud, you know i had to get it out the mud
bippin’ whips and flippin’ zips, you know we got it off the plug
out the mud, yeah i got it out the mud
i’m from the gutter, yeah i’m comin’ out the mud, yeah

[verse 2: work dirty]
welcome home to my n-gga, brodie, the streets miss you
seen you free on that ‘gram, i had to come and get you
some of them smiles, they be suckers, they’d rather see you down
i keep my cleats to this gravel and i stay on the mound
treat these bullets like flyers, i’m quick to p-ss ’em out
overdose they brain with this game until they p-ssin’ out
fat n-gga with so much swag, don’t ask me how
i really play with trap money, they just rap about
you don’t know nothin’ ’bout my struggle, these shoes don’t fit at all (they don’t)
n-ggas’ll sell they soul to satan for a chance to ball (they will)
four years of stuntin’ and flashin’ cash on the ‘gram
then get on the stand and point they hands at they man
all this liquor consumption got me emotional (for real)
i got ptsd from the streets, i’m ready for war (i’m ready for war)
i’m from magazine street, bro, i’m trained to go
i keep sticks like a hobo, you better know
we call our mamas and baby mamas to post that bail
then call ’em b-tches, and all of our sh-t put ’em through h-ll
i know you cried when your daddy put his hands on her
then you turn around and cause the same pain, homie
contradictions in situations, always conflicting
then you post that picture, you a real n-gga
i seen real n-ggas take the last from they kids
then go to applebee’s, with a new b-tch

[outro: work dirty]
out the mud, yeah yeah
out the mud, yeah yeah
out the mud, yeah yeah
hmm
out the mud, yeah yeah
said out the mud, yeah yeah
out the mud, yeah yeah

- d lo

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