Chase Me Lyrics - Run The Jewels

Hey 

Woo! Woo! 

Run, Run, Run The Jewels 

Gangster like you wake up in Dickies and load the clippy 

The rate of our ascension makes statisticians feel sickly 

Accountants, they get snippy, they never counted so quickly 

Got 'em up sniffin' yak up off an abacus for a living 

Crime authors, autobiographically bastards 

Pain passin', put a pain in your brain batter 

Style droppin' the drums and stun all gawkers 

Small talkers get launched on, clobbered and tossed off 

Knock 'em on just to get rocks off 

Put a pause on all of that soft talk, chop chop 

Tick tock, you got until the hands on the clock stop 

I'm bagging a bag, then I'm backing out, better back off 

Related 

Naughty & Nice Christmas Songs 

Watch Cardi B Joins James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

(Hey, hey) 

That's why I'm outta here, baby 

Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby 

I'm running reds 'til I'm out of this town, baby (hey) 

You want your money back? Chase me (chase me, chase me, chase me, chase me) 

Ha 

Jewel runner, gold dripper, flow flipper 

Smoke killer, slow sipper, quick temper 

Temperamental, sharp mental, departmental 

Tight fellow, wouldn't want to be him, wouldn't want to see him 

They the type, really be jealous, get'cha hype 

Oh, Jesus, these niggas is polices 

We gon' shower on these pussies, they mommas gon' know Jesus 

Duckn done, told me: Money, these niggas should know better 

But they monkeys so you got to show junkies ain't no let up (ey) 

Bad manners, the bad man'll do bad things 

A bad bitch gave me bomb head to Bad Brains 

The sheriff's daughter, we be outta there 'fore dad came 

Photos 

(Ey) 

That's why I'm outta here, baby 

Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby 

I'm running reds 'til I'm out of this town, baby (ey) 

You want your money back? Chase me (chase me) 

You ain't gonna get your money back 

Ain't gonna get the money, Jack 

You ain't gonna get that money back 

I got the bag, it ain't coming back 

You ain't gonna get your money, Jack 

I got the bag, it ain't coming back 

You ain't gonna get your money, Jack 

I got the bag 

(Yeah) 

Real grippers, pimp niggas with Gucci slippers 

Coochie tippers, Magic City got groupie strippers 

A crew of killers and dealers, we got this newbie with us 

We turn Pirellis to jellies, ex cons and former cellies 

Stay on ready, foot on that very heavy 

Good on deck, smelly smelly 

Show some respect or you'll get showered like parade confetti 

Made man, I'm made already, nobody safe from petty 

450 horse up in the Porsche, 600 in the Chevy 

Buddy, I'm nutty, I've got some screws loose 

And if your bitch wants some cutty, baby, I choose you 

Underground kings, speed and sound things 

Run the sacks and be aware of all your surroundings 

(Ey, ey) 

That's why I'm outta here, baby 

Before these clowns put me down in the ground, baby 

I'm running reds 'til I'm out of this town, baby (ey) 

You want your money back? Chase me (chase me, chase me) 

Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen 

Right now, I got to tell you about the fabulous, most groovy