Chase Me (feat. Run The Jewels & Big Boi) [From "Baby Driver"]

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 Wooh! Wooh! 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 C-C-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 Ticktock, you got until the hands on the clock stop I'm bagging a bag, then I'm backing out, better back off (Aye, aye, aye) 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 (aye) 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" (yeah) 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 (Aye, aye, aye) 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 (aye) 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 (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 to 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 (yeah), nobody safe, I'm petty (yeah) 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 Kingz, speed and sound things Run the sacks and be aware of all your surroundings (Aye, aye, aye) 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 (aye) 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