Rich Gang feat. Mystikal R.G. Lyrics

DJ Stevie J (We gon’ get to it *****)
Real *****s (by any means necessary)
Rich *****s (We were born like this)
Fly ****

I be on some fly ***** **** when I step out
**** what y’all talkin’ about
I be on some rich ***** **** when I step out
**** what y’all talkin’ about, **** what y’all talkin’ about
**** what y’all talkin’ about, **** what y’all talkin’ about
I be on some fly, rich ***** ****, steppin’ out
I be on that fly, rich ***** ****, steppin’ out
**** what y’all talkin’ about

Quarter-mill for the car, quarter-mill on the arm
Black Double-R, back the **** off
Drophead, cut your head off, hard top, no soft
Wet ***** turn me on when it keep me hard
King ****, Versace tiles, I ain’t dryin’ off
Marble floors, you dusty *****s couldn’t walk on
Jesus walked on water, so I’mma walk on charters
Private jets, baguettes, only **** with ballers
All this, half a mill, first week of August
I ain’t even doin’ shows, I’m just workin’ on the album
Forty for the feesha, I just payed my mama’s Visa
You in the club breathin’, that Ten X, you *****s Beavis
She give me +butt, head get brain like a genius
I got that dope ****, the 80s chrome Alpinas
(White Beamer) my son gon’ inherit this flow
You *****s gumball drops on the bottom of my sole

Young *****, we Rich Gang, came up from that wrist game
Picture me rollin’ down Biscayne, black Double-R with your *****, mane
With that top off and that drop head, pull up on ‘em, they drop dead
*****s talkin’ that bird ****, when them birds came, they was not dead
And I was out there with that work from the 15th to the 1st
My clique mean and they merk, we'll let them clips squeeze like dirt
When it come to them dollars, *****, why bother? These *****s don’t want no problems
‘Cause I’ll kill all y’all dead, put a price on your head, get your brain, I doubt it
I be on that fly **** – M-O-B that mob ****
Boy, I’m talkin’ G5 ****, 50 racks for that ride, ****
That ain’t yours, that’s my *****, you clocked out and I signed in
We young *****s, we grindin’, we shinin’ like diamonds (WHOA)

Make them pop ten bottles like, give me ten more
I’m in the club passin’ weed to the *****es, like hit this ****
Your stupid *** outside talkin’ ‘bout “get me in!
Should’ve known I was a fool, when I moved

When I pulled up in that Bentley - told y’all I was gangster, still somethin’ like a pimp
Don’t say I didn’t – million-dollar flow, got a lot of dough, brand new clothes
VIP for *****s like me, wish a ************ would touch that rope
(Rappers, hustlers, dealers, killers, thugs, goons, beasts, guerillas)
(Money, cars, jewels, chinchillas, jets, cribs, condos, villas)
Say that, then… (hold up), goddamn right, ***** I’ve been fly since way back when
That’s right, I am YMCM, Grave Street, play that, there

Burnin’ up the track like a **********in’ matchstick, you know that’s him
Tryna shine when you come around stars like us, they do look dim
Ain’t got your game tight, ain’t got your swag up, shame on them
Your legs too little and your T-Shirt big; *****, go to the gym
For the love of my clique, we up in this *****
So sorry that your girl’s suckin’ my ****, throwin’
money in the air like I’m sick of this ****

We be on our fly ****
You see us right, Fly ****
Swag or die and we high
Haha, Rich Gang
DJ Stevie J~!!
Stunna, salute

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