Heard in the following movies & tv shows
Lyrics
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 reign 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 goggles 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 Y'all vaginas 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 Right now, I got to tell you about the fabulous, most groovy
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