Yo Gotti – Stay Ur Distance Lyrics

Ay, I been quarantined ’cause I ain’t fckin’ with n***** anyway
Stay your distance, psy
Yeah, stay your distance, psy (Tay Keith, fck these n***** 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
N***** still outside, they must don’t think it’s real
Kinda miss Southside, I 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
That’s one mission you had to abort
Thug life, n****, I’m passionate for it
Back outside, can’t find the doors
Five, six Lam’ trucks, five, six Cullinans

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

I don’t want no handgun, I need an AK (A whole Drac’)
Busted-down Patek, she bust it down, respect
She don’t respect no sucker, street shit from her brother
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
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
I want the money on the front end
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 n**** bitch, fly her out
I’m the type pipe her up, show her life about
She the type wife-like, but not really
She match my energy (Twin)
She like when I stick the thumb in her butt, gon’ let her cum on the millions
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 n****, I won a Grammy
I’ma be good, word to my granny
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
Bricks, spent forty a piece
Dugg want forty a verse
Big Berg in the Honda, the purse

And we coppin’ shit in the recession, n****
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
Back and forth with the plug, talkin’ about numbers
Pack on the ‘Hound
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