Racks - Rick Rock, Goldie Gold, Mazerati Ricky

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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

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