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I got a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this breadGot a pocket full of dead guysEvil voices in my head tellin' me to watch the fedsAnd I love sellin' cake piesIt's a bad bitch in my bed and she got that stupid headCall me Versace shop, shawty, catch me walkin' out of 5thsWith a lil Glock 40 and a couple extra clipsLenox Mall in the closet, all my hoes exoticAnd ain't that shit ironic that my doors go up, robotic? (Gucci!)I can walk the shit and I can talk the shitI can talk the shit cause I got itIt's Gucci Mane, I'm a walkin' lickGot dead people in my pocketFallin' off in Follie's, got a bag full of the molliesA half a mil' all profit, and my music got her jockin'I got a pocket full of dead peopleLetras de cancionesEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this breadI've been livin' like a king all weekI'm a peasant at the end of every dayI've been chillin' with my niggas in the streetsLivin' like a vagabond, wild, free, run awayReminiscin' 'bout them bored summer daysBlowin' haze on the east side of AtlantaMakin' moves on the shawty, a HispaniaWe don't speak the same language so excuse me if I stammerI understand you wanna pick up the hammerAnd build up your own, she see her brother climbin' the ladderIt's your time, yeah it's somethin' that you figureI mean you can do it too but you can't be a bitch ass niggaGet up off your ass, find a fuckin' craftMake bread, get it back, give it back times 2Who are you? Look in the mirrorDon't give a fuck what they think, you're the one, you're the truthGot the juice, got the juice, got the juice, got the juiceMothafucka you the man like an 8th grade JewYou can chew through any zebra ass in the zooAny nigga tryna act hard as some leather boots, fuck themAnd anyone tryna step on you, fire burnin'Make a livin', stack a sum and watch your paperNow and later ain't really good timeFor a nigga 'bout his business on Wood Crest ManorI got a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me go get this breadGot a pocket full of dead peopleEvil voices in my head tellin' me to get this bread From Letras Mania