Lyrics Chicken Coupe - Rio Da Yung OG, Peezy

Chicken Coupe

Snuck an eight of Wock' on the plane in my carry-on
Told him he ain’t talkin' 'bout guap, nigga, carry on
I been out in Cali gettin' money, I’m like Harry-O
Shawty just called me, wan' me put this dick in every hole
Cartier diamond rings on, but I ain’t married, though
Yeah, that lil' weed you got straight, but it ain’t Larry, though
Yeah, I see you came bustdown, it ain’t Gary, though
The label tried to sign me for an M, I made that in the O
Just counted up a quarter million on my kitchen table
Ain’t been home a month and made three hundred, man, this shit amazing
Doggy say he got some strong grams, how much them bitches takin'?
Man, you ain’t really got no pape' for real, we know you niggas fakin'
Trackhawks, Demons, Hellcats, we buy that shit and race it
Walk his ass down and fah, fah, now he got a facial
You can’t really fuck with me for real, you might as well face it
Thirty-six hundred for a seal, you know I gotta taste it
White diamond link, white Rollie, but I’m not racist
Young rich nigga love to ball, I’m like Sanaa Lathan
Pay a hundred dollars for my drawers, I am not basic
Bitch, give me my money right now, I ain’t got patience
How the fuck is you a Ghetto Boy and you ain’t got a spaceship?
Man, how the fuck I’m 'posed to know your feelings if you don’t say shit?
Hit a speed bump pourin' up and I did not waste it
Read his paperwork, I know he told, he is not gangster