Gucci Mane - Lunch Freestyle lyrics

[Verse 1:] Riching you trying to maintain Hundred benz and bo mane I got a new roller, playing You cooking I'm f**ing your man They say that I talk about change b**h you stop flexing with ranges Her Rory ain't driving no range I bet you sh** ain't gonna change [Verse 2:] Rich Kid and go Up Ground round I got four Glock Kevin working the safe spot I've been gone cause the block hot Trappin, ain't whippin no word Your riches ain't bought me a verse Yow b**h I might lift up your skirt I'm f**ing her making her squirt Who trippin my phone ringing She got the dough I'm dropping her home I'm f**ing that b**h I won't pick up the phone (No) I got the word to fix you I never grow up as a freestyler I never grow up as a freestyler I guess the rest is just history [Verse 3:] It's more than one way to skin a cat My crew say it's a new day My top missing like a two pay I'm a superstar like Lupe I'm war down while sushi Be Gucci, my movie My diamonds coated And a smoothie Imma spin five like a ozzy Dont pity me They sick of me These p**y n***a tricking me If getting money is a crime Then I'm guilty cause I'm filthy I'm balling like I'm an athlete No jump shots No track meets My money longer than Shaqs feet Gucci Mane the O Trap king Get hats down I'm socker king I fly down, a private plane Dope price keep going up and down Like the stock exchange Pound of this and a pound of that And a brick a this and a little a that I show a lame how to make a change They ain't never change There's project change [Verse 4:] Imma wait like fat people jogging But a house on the hill When I look you Imma wonder why I never see no black people walking West side daddy Big yellow braces Spinning with a weight News spin on his face lift Hit me a liquor Spit out the fakers Took all my crews on vacation Money, money that's all I think about BSM that's all I'm screaming out Ten seventeen, ain't nothing else to think about Mack 11 in my car Make a n***a pull it out Big ole pimps off Big ole ring on Big magazines at the Coronarita Just layed back Me and my amigos Give me twelve for a four pound a weed though How your mamma cry like Dope Boy mother Lay on your couch Flee like Dope Boy n***a I'm so L A Left the lawyer for you Yall go f** around And make me gotta pay my lawyer Long trench coat Looking like big Tracy 30 inch long horn Chevy Tracy So L A gotta keep my Stacy You f**ing with a big dog You might catch rabies