Racks on Racks (Super Remix)

(Sunny Digital)

What you got?

Racks on racks on racks

He got racks on racks on racks

We got racks on racks on racks

Let's go, ay

We got racks on racks on racks

She got racks on racks on racks (Damn, son, where'd you find this?)

They got racks on racks on racks

Got campaign going so strong

Getting brain while I'm talking on the phone

Spend money when ya money's this long

Real street ****, there ain't no clone

We at the top where we belong

Drank lean, rosé, Patrón

Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong

When the club 'bout to hear this song?

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

I ain't even tryna hold back

Still fresh, yeah and in my Trues

Iced out, okay, cool

Strapped up, know I keep that tool

That racks on racks, a ma'fuckin' fool

All across the globe, bein' on TV

Everywhere you look, you see YC

Hatin' ass **** just wishin' they were me

YC, YC, YC

Way too big for my ma'fuckin' jeans

I'm so fly I don't even got wings

Eyes real low, just blame it on the green

Girl cut up, got lean on lean

That shoebox shit, over with

Spend a hunnid racks, won't notice it

My bank 'count, commas all over it

Racks on racks on racks

Young, if it's convertible, then how is it a hardtop?

Bitch, I hit one button, my roof open like a hard spot

Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock

Had so much kush and Cîroc, bitch I think my heart stop

Every night's a weekend, every day's a Friday night

You ain't seen nothin' yet, bitch, this just my Friday ice

'87, brick fare, yeah I'm talkin' thirty racks

All I sold is hundos, where the fuck my twenties at?

Racks on, racks off

See that blonde strip when my hat's off

Looking at my Rollie, 'bout thirty grand what the cost

Smoke like I'm in Cali'

Fuck take a flight, I blast off

**** talkin' tattoos

We should have a tat-off

Got racks on racks on racks

Naps on naps on naps

Just made a mil', count another mil'

So put that on top of that

Way back in 2004, I told them it was a wrap

Now my life ain't my life, no more

I told you **** it's a wrap, ooh

You claim you a dog, my ****, I'm the vet

We can't even talk unless you cut the check

I guess that's why all these **** get mad

They said fuck a young ****, fuck a young ****

I know there's some girls in the crowd right now who wanna fuck a young ****?

Yeah

I roll one and roll another one bigger

**** thinking they sick, well, I'm sicker

I'ma smoke my weed, and I'ma drink my liquor

Better make sure you fuck your girl right before I dick her down

I got racks on top of racks, stacks on top of stacks

Bands on top of bands

Got me fuckin' her and her friends

Backwoods, don't do papers

Double shot for my haters

Clap two times if you drunk

Got a bad bitch from the UK

She do everything I say

Go crazy when she hear music

She got 'Grove Street' on replay

Got racks you don't understand

Money long from here to Japan

Do it good when she go no-hands

Girl, you got me in a trance

Got campaign going so strong

Getting brain while I'm talking on the phone

Spend money when ya money's this long

Real street ****, there ain't no clone

We at the top where we belong

Drank lean, rosé, Patrón

Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong

When the club 'bout to hear this song?

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

****, I ain't even tryna hold back

Got racks on racks on racks

Y'all rap so wack on wax

Purple by the pound

That's that Flacco pack

I make big plays, I got big chips

Blue money like six Crips

Switch gears like stick shifts

Fresh as hell now, I'm Big Kipp

We buy cars, y'all flip whips

Catch us smokin' that quick trip

Pitch piff, that's a handspring

I like to call that a quick flip

Pull triggers like hamstrings

Boy, I'm doin' my damn thing

Pimp blood with them bricks, pimp

Get off a key like I can't sing

Got the seven on me like Vick jersey

Ridin' 'round and this bitch dirty

I'm the best, hands down

They nicknamed me Six-Thirty

I'm with Young Dose and YC

Readell Road, that's my street

Ask around on the Eastside

I'm the S-H-I-T

Bun B, I'm the underground king

In the candy-painted car on swang

With the top on drop and the trunk on pop

Boy, you can't tell me a damn thang

Fifth wheel on the back just hang

Hit corners, hit licks, hit stains

With the grill in the front, wh-wheelin' the blunts

Shorty, neon lights in my veins

Yeah, I rep that B-A-T

One hundred, yeah, that's me

If you don't recognize, you gon' see

I'm a straight-up trill OG

In a black-on-black-on-black

Cadillac, like Mack on clacks

Try to jack and I will attack

It's a fact that I ain't givin' up my stacks like that

Call me Booby Ray, but it's not two names

Flyin' through the city, all-black, Bruce Wayne

No, not bombs over Baghdad

But on the track, you can call me Hussein

That's why they nervous, hmmm

Like I'm flyin' on the plane with a turban

But I'm fly, y'all just turbulence

Exit row, emergency

As a kid, I was struck by lightning

It's no wonder I'm electrifying

Fuck a brainstorm

I'll fuck around and cause a power outage

And it ain't no rivals

If it was, it'd be no survivors

Just gimme a hour

I'll light it up like an Eiffel tower

Got bills on top of bills

Scales on top of scales

I'm Mr. All White

Got yayo on top of yayo

Got calls all on my phone

These **** know I'm on

Said 50 for a song

And they won't leave me 'lone

Gotta front me a brick, that ain't nothin' to you

Just ran through a ticket, there ain't nothin' to do

Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth

Mr. Cocaine Music, I'm 100 proof

Got white on white on white

Ice on ice on ice

And when I'm in the club it look like lights on lights on lights

Got campaign going so strong

Getting brain while I'm talking on the phone

Spend money when ya money's this long

Real street ****, there ain't no clone

We at the top where we belong

Drank lean, rosé, Patrón

Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong

When the club 'bout to hear this song?

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Got racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

Racks on racks on racks

****, I ain't even tryna hold back

The calle me 'Country Grammar'

My brother out the slammer

I'm crimson color painted

You can call that Alabama

I'm not from Alabama

But check out how I Roll Tide

He might have the same whip

But check out how I roll mine

Y'all **** ain't no stars

Y'all only in it for the cars

The sky is your limit, mane

And mine somewhere about Mars

I ride with them boys in the middle of the map

St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-Town, 'Nap'

Down to the Dirty, back up to the trap

But the money don't stack, man, money overlap

Yeah, y'all better watch it, mane

Right here we lock and load

Two things is for certain, mane

And one thing is for sure

Got a house on hunnid acres

I never see my neighbors

A chick in ATL

And from Buckhead to Decatur

Now y'all better leave me alone

Got a license for my chrome

Don't lease on your momma phone

Talkin' 'bout your baby gone

Tell the truth, I ain't gon' lie

I got so many rides

Still don't know which one I'ma drive

Fuck it, I'm just gon' fly

Everybody wanna hate because I'm on

Blowin' hair back, bottles, 'bout to zone

Twista finna get up on the track

I spit it the way I do simply because I like this song

When I step up out the Maserati car

I gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar

Then I blow, I'ma close up the car

With some killers and everybody know who we are

Get Money Gang steppin' through the door

Chicago, -cago, -cago

Anybody wanna get into it

Well, come on and do it

For security we gon' make 'em feel the flow

Might as well get it off your chest

While everybody got ammunition on deck

I don't see them, see them as a, as a threat

'Cause I got racks on racks on racks

Twista, I see your future

Finna shoot ya

I salute ya if you could get at the General of my military

Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats

I can destroy an entire village when I kill and bury

'Cause I manipulate your molecular structure

Other words, fill 'em up with holes

If you try to give it to me, antidote

I just thought I had to let you know

Now I got single bitches tryin'

Married bitches lyin'

I take 'em to the crib and leave our future in a condom

I wake up fresher than these motherfuckers' ass is

Look inside my closet

That shit look like it's 'Raks Fifth'

Man, that's racks on racks on racks

On top of packs on top of pounds

My chains is pow on pow on pow

I'm off them trees, no I ain't no owl

I'm at the altar sayin' my vows

To this Benjamin Franklin power

You buy her a house, I won't buy her a vowel

You fell in love and I fell in her mouth

They called her 'Dickface'

She called her connect

You call her collect

I call to collect

No need for a pet

If I throw this paper, yo bitch gon' fetch

B-I-G

And the track gon' be a'ight as long as we got me

I'm the hood if you wondered where I'm at

In the back of a Chevy that's all black

Racks on racks, I don't know how to act

Track and field with the birds , I'm runnin' 'em like track

Free throws of money, bet you can't block

King of the club, I bet you can't top

Bitch **** hate the fact I get guap

Or the fact when the money go up, it won't stop

I'm in the club, tryna show 'em how to stunt

Tryna pick up what I throw, it'd prolly take about a month

The club underwater, have 'em runnin' out the front

While I'm somewhere in the back, gettin' blowed like a blunt

No need to trip, you can tell 'em that I'm cool as hell

'Cause it's the case, I'm known to pack a tool as well

I'm a thug motherfucker, nothin' new to tell

Got Vogues underneath the old-school as well

I got lights on my wirst that'll flash like cops

Couple of foreign cars that I ride, no tops

Couple of whi-whips that I ride like yachts

A couple of haters lookin', I'm knowin' them **** hot

And you can tell 'em that I don't give damn

Hard as a motherfucker, tell 'em I was HAM

Call it what you want, I'ma do it for the fam

Yeah, that's the type of **** that I am

Okay, yo, I'm back off into this bitch

With a cup, and it's full of that liq'

I got racks, ain't talkin' tits

Big stacks, no Lego bricks

Hit a trick and they feel a **** got it

I keep that hottie, just look at her body

Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds

Sorry, that's just just part of my hobby

And I hear 'em stealin' my Florida swagger

So dope, shoulda sold y'all copies

That ice be onto my neck and wrist

Now anybody wanna play some hockey?

I'm that **** in fact

Paper tall as Shaq

'Blood , Sweat and Tears'

It'll be on your local Walmart rack