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Yc - Racks (Remix) Ft. CyHi Da Prynce, Young Jeezy, Bun B, Twista, Ace Hood, Dose , B.o.B., Big Sean, Cory Mo, Cory Gunz, Nelly, Trae The Truth, Waka Flocka, Wale, Wiz Khalifa & Yo Gotti
LYRICS - 2011
YC! (What you got?) Racks on racks on racks (He got) Racks on racks on racks (We got) Racks on racks on racks (Leggo) (Hey) We got racks on racks on racks (She got) Racks on racks on racks (They got) Racks on racks on racks Got campaign goin’ so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when your money is long Real street niggas, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Drink lean, rose, Patron Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong When the club ’bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back YC Still fresh, yeah, and in my Trues Iced out, okay, cool Trapped up, know I keep that tool That racks on racks so ma’fuckin’ fool All around the globe, bein’ on TV Everywhere you look, you see YC Hatin’-ass niggas 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 She put it on the rack, won’t notice it My bank ‘count, commas all over it Racks on racks on racks Young Jeezy 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 Ciroc, 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? Wiz Khalifa Racks on, racks off, see that blonde stripper, my hat’s off Lookin’ at my Rollie, ’bout thirty grand what that cost Smoke like I’m in Cali, fuck takin’ flight, I blast off Niggas talkin’ tattooes, we should have a tat-off Got racks on racks on racks, naps on naps on naps Just made a mill, count another mill, so put that on top of that Way back in 2004, I told ‘em it was a wrap Now my life ain’t my life no more, I told you, nigga, it’s a wrap Oooh, you claim you a dog, my nigga, I’m the vet We can’t even talk ‘less you got the check, I guess that’s why all of these niggas get bent They said “Fuck a young nigga, fuck a young nigga” I know it’s some girls in the crowd right now who wanna fuck a young nigga I roll one and roll another one bigger Niggas thinkin’ 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 ‘fore I dick her Down Waka Flocka Flame (Flocka!) I got racks on top of racks (Uh!), stacks on top of stacks (Uh!) Bands on top of bands (Uh!), got me fuckin’ her (Uh!) and her friends (Flocka!) Bad boys don’t do papers (Flex!), that was just for (Flex!) my haters (Clap!) (Clap, clap, go, go, go, go, go, Flocka!) Clap two times if you druuuunk Got a bad bitch from the U.K. (Okay!) She do everything I say (Okay!) Go crazy when she hear music (Grove Street!) She got “Grove St.” on replay (Flocka!) Got racks you don’t understand (Uh-huh) Money long from here to Japan (Uh-huh) Know it good when she go no hands Girl, you got me in a trance Got campaign goin’ so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when your money is long Real street niggas, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Drink lean, rose, Patron Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong When the club ’bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back Cyhi The Prynce Got racks on racks on racks, y’all rap so wack on wax Purple by the pound, that’s that Flacco, haaaa I make big plays, I got big chips Blue money like six Crips Switch gears like stick shifts Fresh as hell, no 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 Baby blood with them bricks, pimp Get off a key like I can’t sing Got the seven on me like big jersey Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty I’m the best, hands down They nicknamed me 6:30 I’m wit’ Young Dose and YC Readell Road, that’s my street Ask around on the Eastside I’m the s-h-i-t Bun B Bun B, I’m 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, wood wheel in the blunts You’re on neon lights in my bank Yeah, I rep that P-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 a Mack on clacks Try to jack and I will attack It’s a fact that I ain’t givin’ up my stacks like that B.o.B Call me Bobby 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 (Mayday!) 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 Yo Gotti Got bills on top of bills, scales on top of scales I’m Mr. All White, got yell’ on top of yell’ Got pills all on my phone, these niggas know I’m wrong 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 goin’ so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when your money is long Real street niggas, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Drink lean, rose, Patron Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong When the club ’bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back Wale Racks on racks on racks, I’m tryna smash and not call back My name Wale, you so silly, wet my willie, might call you a cab Yeah, ridin’ around wit’ that reefer scent, ridin’ around with Ms. Reece and them When I’m in the groove, I can freak a tune, I’m smoother than alopecia skin I shows out, like dope when I put that flow down Like soap when I put my clothes on, I’m jokin’, but I be Foamed out And all she want is more bags, but all I want is more 1s I told her “Bring that money back” like all them racks is Nordstrom’s Cory Gunz The tracks on snack off raps, see stacks from back of my slacks From the X to the MACs in the Ac, if I ain’t strapped, then the gats on scat Then he black on ‘em like Tae Bo, then he clap on ‘em like bravo Throw sacks on ‘em like y’all hoes, got racks on ‘em like tight hoes Young Money, Cash Money so strong, keep scorin’, I’ma bring it on home Those Xans and the lean cause zones, somethin’ tan with a mean jawbone Worldwide, but I got fourth ways, one hat carry like four blades Petey Pop Off, RIP, free Lou, been lootin’ money since like fourth grade I’m the shit nowadays, so they wave, no whips, no chains, I’m a slave Let you niggas know Milita my gang, MCN if you was thinkin’ it’s a game See me with the twin, buck a shimmy with the gauge Wasn’t bustin’ Jimmy, I’d be busy gettin’ paid Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave I be worried about chips, you be worried about the Lay’s Bitch Dose Got Activist in my Sprite, Benjamins in my Robins Frank Muller wit’ flooded ice, but I still got my brightness In the fast lane, gettin’ slow brain in a 2012 Maserati I’m kickin’, pimpin’, like Liu Kang, my coupe smokin’ like Friday Puffin’ on that garlic, sick off all the Marley Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket Shout out to Sha Money, signed me in a hurry Daddy was a kingpin, a couple milli buried Nigga, you ain’t talkin’ nothin’, all in Flight Corps stuntin’ These exclusive 7s, pay 400 for the Jordans No, you can’t afford ‘em, sharper than a swordsman Racks on racks, our campaign strong, and YC like my brother Cory Mo Catch me in the city with the trunk on crack Top dropped down, black on black Fistful of wood, twisted for the good Check my bank account, got racks on racks Look around, fool, got a wall full of plaques Platinum and gold, you gots to love that Posted up just like a thumbtack Better hide ya ho, ’cause she bound to get snatched H-Town, Texas to ATL She got a fat ass, she prolly know me well Keep it on the low, never kiss and tell True player, Cory Mo cold as hell Shows to do, got records to sell Got a whole lotta BMI checks in the mail If ballin’ was a crime, I’d be in jail Locked up for double life like “What the hell?” Got campaign goin’ so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when your money is long Real street niggas, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Drink lean, rose, Patron Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong When the club ’bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back Nelly Yeah, they call 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 niggas ain’t no stars, y’all only in it for the cars The sky is your limit, mayne, and mine somewhere ’bout Mars I ride wit’ them boys in the middle of the map St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-town, Nap Down to the Dirty, back up through the trap But the money don’t stack, man, money overlap Yeah, y’all better watch it, mayne, right here we lock and load Two things is for certain, mayne, and one thing is fa sho’ Got a house on hundred acres, I’ve never seen my neighbors A chick in ATL and from Buckhead to Decatur Now y’all better leave me alone, got license for my chrome Don’t lease or your mama phone talkin’ ’bout “Yo’ baby gone!” Tell the truth, I ain’t gon’ lie, I got so many rides Don’t know which one I’ma drive, fuck it, I’m just gon’ fly Twista Everybody wanna hate because I’m on, blowin’ head back, bottles by the zone Twista finna get up on the track and spit it the way I do simp-a-ly because I like this song When I step up out the Maserati car, gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar Then I blow, I’ma close out the par’, wit’ some killers and everybody know who we are Get Money Gang steppin’ through the do’, Chi-cago, cago, cago Anybody wanna get into it, come on and do it, for security, we gon’ make ‘em pull the flo’ Might as well get it off yo’ chest, while everybody got ammunition on deck I don’t see them T-Dum-Izzle as a threat, ’cause I got racks on racks on racks Oh, Twista, I see your future, finna shoot ya, I salute you if you could get at the general in my military Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats, I could destroy an entire village when I kill and bury ‘Cause I manipulate your molecular structure, other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes If you try to give it to me at the door, I just thought I had to let you know Big Sean (I bet your bitch call me Big) 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 as 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 eye, no ow 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 (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 (Do it!) B-i-g And the track gon’ be aight as long as we got me (I do it) Trae Tha Truth I’m the hood if you wondered where I’m at (Where I’m at) In the back of a Chevy that’s all black (All black) Racks on racks, I don’t know how to act (Act) Track and field with the birds, I’m runnin’ ‘em like track (Track) Free throws of money, bet you can’t blind (Blind) King of the club, I bet you can’t top (Top) Bitch niggas hate the fact I get guap (Guap) Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop (Boy!) I’m in the club, tryna show ‘em how to stunt (Stunt) Tryna pick up what I’m throw, it prolly take about a month (Month) The club underwater, have ‘em runnin’ out the front While I’m somewhere in the back, gettin’ blowed like a blunt (Blunt) No need to trip, you can tell ‘em that I’m cool as hell (Cool as hell) ‘Cause it’s the case I know the pack of pumas well (Pumas well) I’m a blood motherfucker, that dude’ll tell (Dude’ll tell) Got 47 ‘neath the old-school as well (School as well) I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop (Cops) Couple of foreign cars that I ride no top (Tops) Couple of whi-whips that I ride like yachts (Yachts) A couple of haters lookin’, I’m knowin’ them niggas hot (Hot) And tell ‘em that I don’t give a 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 nigga that I am Ace Hood Okay, I’m back off into this bitch (This bitch!) Wit’ a cup, and it’s full of that liq’ (Hot!) Got racks, ain’t talkin’ tits (Ew-way!) Big stacks, no Lego bricks (Woo!) Hit a trick and a fiendin’ nigga got it I keep that hottie, just look at her body (Hey!) Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds Sorry, that’s just part of my hobby (Swoop!) And I hear ‘em feelin’ my Florida swagger, so dope, shit, I sold y’all copies That ice be onto my neck and wrist, now anybody wanna play some hockey I’m that nigga in fact (In fact), paper tall as Shaq (Oh, boy!) Blood, Sweat, and Tears, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack Soon Got campaign goin’ so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when your money is long Real street niggas, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Drink lean, rose, Patron Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong When the club ’bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back Thank for stoping by ...http://mp3hiphopmusic.blogspot.com/2011/06/racks-remix-mp3-lyrics-2011.html |
