Rich The Kid - Real Deal - Tekst piosenki, lyrics - teksciki.pl

19.04.2016

32

Tekst piosenki
[Intro] You know niggas talking about this man I'm bout to fuck 100,000 right now Aye, dang, woah [Hook: Rich The Kid] Fuck on your bitch and I leave Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her Trap phone got a beeper They was talkin' to the people Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood Pick a model in the hills Wrist froze, neck chill I got the hundreds, a real deal [Verse 1: Rich The Kid] Pick the model in the hills Percocet, pop a pill I got the hundreds, real deal The Rollie, the boogers is real chill Bitches bustin' out the gate You would take her on a date Cum on her face, make a mess More bullets for the tec Melrose with the O's Take a picture for some hoes Take a picture for some hoes I'm dabbin' around with a bankroll She'll fuck for Chanel You was talkin' to the 12 I was playin' with a scale Baby ship it through the mail [Hook: Rich The Kid] Fuck on your bitch and I leave Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her Trap phone got a beeper It was talkin' to the people Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood Pick a model in the hills Wrist froze, neck chill I got the hundreds, a real deal [Verse 2: Quavo] I was playin' with a scale Fuck nigga gon' tell Dab sharp like nails Two guns, sonic tails Free block gang kill Baby powder in the mail Finesse a nigga, I'm a player Then I move to the Himalayas Shell catches no shells Cookie gas in the L Fuckin' hoes on film In case the bitch wanna tell Try and lie and say I ate the bitch We done run her through the whole clique I don't really fuck with atheists Crosses on my neck, I'm bankin' it Beast mode, can't tame it Skippa got the chopper, aimin' it And we ain't shootin' at your legs And we ain't shootin' at the pancreas QC, the label dangerous I got a bitch, finna wrang a bitch Hold the squad down, anchor it And my money counter accurate [Hook: Rich The Kid] Fuck on your bitch and I leave Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her Trap phone got a beeper It was talkin' to the people Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood Pick a model in the hills Wrist froze, neck chill I got the hundreds, a real deal [Verse 3: Famous Dex] I got the hundreds, a real deal All my diamonds on chill Real gold, ice grill I'm sipping lean, crack the seal Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood I was broke, now I'm good Three grams in my wood Yeah I got it out the mud I'm ridin' round in this foreign All these bitches yeah they goin' All this money man comin' All these fuckin' blue hundreds And no I don't wear the Margielas And Yeezy's on, check the weather Two bitches flappin' like they feathers I'm ballin' hard like Mayweather, yeah [Hook: Rich The Kid] Fuck on your bitch and I leave Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her Trap phone got a beeper It was talkin' to the people Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood Pick a model in the hills Wrist froze, neck chill I got the hundreds, a real deal [Verse 3: Offset] I won't take a bitch up on a date Suckin' dick and then we fornicate Like a dirty pistol, she a throw away I'm goin' through it so I pour away My wrist is cold like a blizzard I think that bitch is a ho but I miss her Got it out the mud to a Fisker Young nigga been grindin' hard for a minute I'm a savage and a menace I be thuggin', fuck an image I got action for you actin' niggas Man the trenches, diamond dancin' nigga You a lil bitch, lil nigga I'm a big young rich nigga I sip out the seal my nigga One Actavis bottle your bills my nigga I'm whippin' still, I cook up gefilte fish Don't trust no ho cause a bitch gon' be a bitch Don't trust no nigga cause it's cool to be a snitch That nigga was talkin too much so it's cool to hit him with clips [Hook: Rich The Kid] Fuck on your bitch and I leave Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her Trap phone got a beeper It was talkin' to the people Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood Pick a model in the hills Wrist froze, neck chill I got the hundreds, a real deal
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