empty out your pockets

Empty Out Your Pockets

Juice WRLD’s “Empty Out Your Pockets” is an anthem of duality, fusing braggadocious assertions with the aching vulnerability beneath them. The theme revolves around transformation—how money, fame, and survival shape not only the world around us but the person we become. It’s a testament to the scars left by adversity, even as success takes center stage.

Empty out your pockets, I need all that
Yeah, yeah
G-Money said, “We need all the money, man”
Pennies and all that
With G-Money, if I don’t care if he got a million in all pennies, I’ma be countin’ Abe Lincolns all day

Yeah, yeah, uh
Empty out your pockets, I need all that
I get the millions, then I fall back
Niggas chameleons, they’ll change for some change
Days ain’t the same, niggas switch for the fame
Louis Vuitton, I’m in my bag
Get high, then my memory gone, I’ve been hurtin’
I rock like electric guitars, I be ragin’
Countin’ big knots, look like yellow pages

I run it like a race
Get in the way, brodie got the aim
To blow you away, the next day, you in the newspaper on the front page
Prayin’ for forgiveness ’cause it happened on a Sunday
Back to the cash, rack after rack
So many racks that I sag
I just bought a bike, catch me doin’ wheelies in the backstreet
Like I’m from where Meek Mill be
Put the “dead” in dead serious, you try me, then you will be
On my wrist, it’s a ICEE, no, it ain’t melting
Turn my closet to a freezer, AP on the shelf (Gleam)
Everybody doubted me, they ain’t give me no help (Please)
So all this money in my pocket, I’ma spend it by myself (Self)
I bet you never felt this pain I felt
When mom ain’t had no money and them bills brought hell
That’s when G-Money hit my cell
Next day, would’ve fucked up and ended up in a cell

Uh, oh, hell (Fucked up and ended up in a cell)
Ended up in a cell (In a cell)
Oh, hell

Yeah, yeah, uh (Ended up in a cell)
Empty out your pockets, I need all that
I get the millions, then I fall back
Niggas chameleons, they’ll change for some change
Days ain’t the same, niggas switch for the fame
Louis Vuitton, I’m in my bag
Get high, then my memory gone, I’ve been hurtin’
I rock like electric guitars, I be ragin’
Countin’ big knots, look like yellow pages

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