Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Scrimps, artist - Psychopathic Rydas. Date of issue: 14.09.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Scrimps |
| 24 wit the gold tip, scrimps and juice |
| All platinum wit the gold grip, about to get loose |
| Triple black windows like who dat is? |
| Foe Foe and the Rydas in the big body Benz |
| All my friends is close, and my enemies closer |
| Til wind up pictured, on the have you seen me? |
| poster |
| Sippin on the neach wit hoes feedin me grapes |
| I had to get up out the hood into a gated estate |
| All the haters need to back the fuck up |
| Before I back the truck up |
| And leave your crew all shot and stuck up |
| In the hood, all the money in the world ain’t nuttin |
| That’s why they always hate you for sumthin |
| Muthafuckas! |
| (Full Clip:) |
| Ryda convoy rollin' tough again |
| Black hummer H2 on the 42 spins |
| Scrimp and juice bar, restin in the console |
| Foldaway hatch with the strippers pole |
| Lil Shank comin through wit a gang of chickens |
| And plenty of that nose candy for them hoes that dippin |
| Takin bitches down, send em home wit limps |
| And I be sippin on my juice and double dippin my scrimps |
| You got that juice and scrimp |
| Don’t ride boy |
| You’s a pimp |
| (Get your money right) |
| Can I ride wit you? |
| Boy let me ride wit you! |
| (Get your money right) |
| (Bullet:) |
| Get off my plate bitch, my scrimp |
| I walk wit a pimp limp, I’m no simp |
| Im a ryda, even when I walk im ridin |
| In the small of my back is a Glock I’m hidin |
| When I pull out, muthafuckas fo’heads blow out |
| Im one them thugs, the reason you don’t go out |
| Me and Lil shank, Full Clip, and Cell Block |
| Ride wit us, we drop you off shell shocked |
| Juice and scrimps, gangsta fury |
| Don’t worry, weed man comin through in a hurry |
| And my name, you muthafuckas know my name |
| You won’t forget it when I bury one deep in yo brain |
| (Sawed Off:) |
| Seven days a week, sippin juice, eatin shrimp |
| Bubbagump ain’t got shit on me, man I be parlayin' |
| You would think I’d say bye to sea |
| Cause the hood the whole hood smell fishy |
| Butter it up dawg! |
| Barbeque, sautéed, pin fried |
| Whatever tall glass of homemade wine |
| Juice bitch its on! |
| When we chillin, it’s like a lunch break |
| Cause thuggin all the time could make a muthafucka hungry |
| You got that juice and scrimp |
| Don’t ride boy |
| You’s a pimp |
| (Get your money right) |
| Can I ride wit you? |
| Boy let me ride wit you! |
| (Get your money right) |
| (Cell Block:) |
| Ballin outta control |
| My money folds and bills with big faces |
| And every money is to livin in some suitcases |
| My scrimp and juice is all swole, and keeps all the rydas tow up |
| On some dime crystal and any luxury |
| Cell Block got the hood unlocked, slangin all types of rock |
| And kill a muthafucka runnin his spot |
| It’s my street, it’s my ground and that bump is my sound |
| You can hear my system pound from the other side of town |
| (Lil' Shank:) |
| Since I was knee high to a big wheel |
| I was always determined to role wit a crew of rydas |
| Keeping it real |
| I met Bullet, Foe Foe, Full Clip, Converse, Sawed Off |
| Cell Block all this shit was unheard |
| But we had mad dreams of makin it big |
| Shrimps and juice, want butter on my lobster bib |
| Pimpin, thuggin, rydin, mashin |
| Seven black trucks parked at the ryda mansion |
| And it don’t stop |
| So go ahead wipe that cocktail sauce off yo chin |
| And count that money man! |
| Psychopathic Rydas all up in this bitch |
| And we don’t give a shit |
| Go ahead and get your shrimp! |
| You got that juice and scrimp |
| Don’t ride boy |
| You’s a pimp |
| (Get your money right) |
| Can I ride wit you? |
| Boy let me ride wit you! |
| (Get your money right) |