Lyrics Racks - Rick Rock, Goldie Gold, Mazerati Ricky

Racks

Racks
Racks
Racks
Rick Rock Beats
I got a hundred bands, then I hit the running man
Me and Peezy split a check and went and bought a hundred fans
Military guns with holographic sight on 'em
And this big Dirty Harry got a little bite on 'em
Glock forty-two, GFO, this bitch wrapped
Three-eighty do 'em shady bust your nigga it his nap
Another check another strap, bitch I got racks
The Bay died down 'til the Chang brought it back
I mastered the art of communication, mack
Zap on my lap blowin' High Chew I stay strapped
Shiny P-ninety head shot, now he flat
Niggas talkin' sweet, get him gone for the racks
Yeah, yeah
We hit the trap, and thug it out
We make it flip, like fuck a drought
We hit the trap, and thug it out
We make it flip, like fuck a drought
'Cause I’ma need my (Racks)
That’s why I said «Just give me a hundred percent, I’m givin' two hundred»
Bring six (Racks)
Kick do' for my (Racks)
Man
King comin' for my (Racks)
Yeah
I’ve only been a millionaire once
Been a hundred-thousandaire ten years, eight months
Blaps Basterdly, Northern Cali King of Slaps
Classic mob slaps and I bought a car that cost a hundred (Racks)
Bitch nigga, I’m back, and I’m really from them sevens though
Little scandalous ass city but we relevant though
Thought she was a freak, but she was celibate though
Left me there stiffer than a pelican nose
Bitch, you want blow, what the fuck don’t you know?
I don’t trip on no ho, I will call you an Uber, then hit the front door
Tippy-toe like a cougar on Zeniths and Vogues
Yeah, yeah
We hit the trap, and thug it out
We make it flip, like fuck a drought
We hit the trap, and thug it out
We make it flip, like fuck a drought
'Cause I’ma need my (Racks)
for my (Racks)
Kick do' for my (Racks)
King comin' for my (Racks)
Yeah, yeah
Rick Rockzilla’s runnin' round
They love real boys, Vallejo, Richmond and The Town
In the fed, my city niggas held me down
I was prayin' on my knees, now they lookin' at me now
Aw racks, look like a million on my arm
Fif-fifty illest with us still lookin' for
Was on the run, half a million dollar bond
Couldn’t get me on the body so they stressed me on the gun
Me and Snoop still thuggin' in the, projects
If she love me, she gonna give me what I want
Your clique bunk, if you ain’t poppin' tags
Two mismatched forties in my red-bottom bag
It’s High Chewy fuck it, roll a Zag
Free the real, hope this makes you send fifty to your man
I want the little bitch to draw Ricky in the sand
Tell them ballin' niggas that I got fifty of them pounds
Racks
Racks
Racks
Racks