Read the lyrics to “Wrong Place, Wrong time” from the “Y’all Won” project by Veeze. Produced by DJ Bass Kids.
“Wrong Place, Wrong Time” runs on low-key tension. Veeze opens with a complaint about a phone that keeps dying, a small inconvenience that sets the tone for a song about being perpetually out of sync. He raps about a shooter who could not find the right angle, about a chopper, about moving on his own timeline. The chorus repeats the title phrase three times, each repetition landing like a shrug. He knows the risk. He is not leaving.
veeze y’all won
The second verse shifts to a specific memory: “I been in the house for like three days / Like a hostage, I can’t even leave.” The line captures the suffocating weight of staying indoors, of waiting for something to shift. The song ends on the same hook, the same refusal to explain. For karaoke or a singalong, the chorus is the anchor.
Produced by DJ Bass Kids
2026-05-22 • 3 minutes
© 2026 Navy Wavy LLC, under exclusive license to Warner Records Inc.
— LYRICS —
[Intro]
Yeah, yeah
[Verse]
I’ll wrong place, wrong time a nigga
Put these niggas’ money under the light, it might be counterfeit
Watered down-ass nigga like we washin’ collard greens
Give his ho a collared shirt, make her do white collar schemes
I dropped out of college, but Jay and Dame ain’t sign me
Soon as they cap and gowned me, seemed like we start robbin’
I can’t say I want that nigga free, I don’t know if he talkin’
If doggy say he want that smoke with me, I bet I horse him
You see me with that ho, it’s intercourse, yeah, of course, duh
My life is a movie, like Four Brothers, shoot the court up
My lil’ bitches gotta have at least Benzes or a Porsche truck
I don’t drink no coffee, went to Starbucks for a ice cup
Spin the bin, sign his ass to Vez’, leave him iced up
I need every penny that I’m owed like the IRS
Nigga, you better get a fuckin’ vest, that got head protectors
Hold on, let me check if this pill real, do the light test
I always got one eye on the money, now I’m Cyclops
I’ma seven mile dog, but I think I got nine lives left
Yeah, you got that wet-wet, but now I need some neck sex
I done flew that P-jet more than a New York Jet
Think I need drug management, I’m the lean commissioner
Take his bitch, he missin’ her, gone, milk carton pictured her
Fillin’ out these apps to become Akorn’s representative
M pills gettin’ the best of you, boy, look like you got sickle cell
He the type to snitch, can’t even stomach sittin’ in the cell
Who gon’ slip? Be donkey of the day, we playin’ Pin The Tail
Doggy ass ain’t fightin’ demons, heard that he was gay in jail
Fuck you need my number for? You tryna send me fan mail?
Fuck 12, just give me my wallet, I could post bail
Goddamn, niggas gettin’ RICO’d and they free as hell
They say that we live in hell, I just smoked a zip in hell
Take me to Balenci’ store, damn, they got some shit in here
I know it’s fun while it last, but I gotta end it here
Lil’ sis down to ride dirty, she think she Chamillionaire
I don’t wear no durag, I don’t do 360 deal
Twenty bands gone, wearin’ shit that y’all can’t even spell
Seven on my back just like Kaep, I might take a kneel
Spin a nigga block without no walk down is a lame drill
Once a nigga tell the truth in court, I just can’t forgive him
Once a nigga say he talked to 12, I don’t hear nothin’ else
Grown man ball, break a leg, I ain’t break a sweat
Green face, brought it just like lean off a turkey back
Cuddy drinkin’ green by the box, call him turtle head
I just bought her Skims by the box, she look up to Kim
We just sippin’ glass, Tech red, you was a regular man
Thinkin’ ’bout my first ten bands, had no facial hair
Young nigga, I’ma feel endless with my face rare
Angel Reese TikTok, my song got my bitch scared
You can drop me anywhere, a stove and some kitchenware
Box of baking soda, bet I come right back a millionaire
And I kept it lit up for the city, I ain’t even been in there
Once these niggas pay they taxes can’t even buy them shit to wear
We trippin’ still, nigga
[Outro]
Wavy Navy boys, we Can’t Be Fucked With
Lucky the Feds on that hot shit with the lyrics, nigga
I’ll really say somethin’ crazy
But I’m five up off a ten, lil nigga
Look in the mirror, I ain’t in it
(And I’m servin’ bass, bitch, I’m in this bitch with BassKids)