Chase Me (feat. Big Boi & Run The Jewels)

Here's what we know

Two men and a woman came into the bank branch

Clad in black business clothing

Trench coats, bandannas, and sunglasses

They pulled guns out and ordered everybody to the floor

And then cleaned out the registers

And hear this—they even swiped jewelry

From some of the customers

Aye, 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

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

You want your money back? Chase me

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

Junkie Johnny told me

Money, these niggas should know better

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

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

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

You want your money back? 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

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

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

You want your money back? Chase me

Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen

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