Pressa - Nothing New lyrics

[Intro] Tank God [Chorus: Roddy Ricch] I fu*k with bad b*tches, I got them big racks Tryna feel the safe, ni**a, these ni**as big cap Rollin' the big body, I had the seat back I need a bag, ni**a, fu*k all the chit-chat And I spent a thousand on my shoes Spent a hundred-twenty on the jewels Twenty 50's, this ain't nothin' new I been in a coupe, ain't got no roof [Verse 1: Roddy Ricch] A ni**a been in my bag, ain't no hurtin' me, yeah Pull up in that 911 like emergency She wanna meet my b*tch fire, burnt me first degree In that Range I gotta pull up strong like I'm Hercules Got three b*tches with me, they poppin' they Perky's with me I got my Louis bag, I gotta keep 30 with me I went from the Pyrex, now a ni**a poppin' fly sh*t I came from the projects, ni**a know I'ma die rich Got a bad b*tch, chase a bag, and she 5'6" Put it in the Rollie and you know it's perfect timin' Went and got a safe, got in the car, she was drivin' I'ma pop my sh*t, you know a young ni**a shinin', yeah [Chorus: Roddy Ricch] I fu*k with bad b*tches, I got them big racks Tryna feel the safe, ni**a, these ni**as big cap Rollin' the big body, I had the seat back I need a bag, ni**a, fu*k all the chit-chat And I spent a thousand on my shoes Spent a hundred-twenty on the jewels Twenty 50's, this ain't nothin' new I been in a coupe, ain't got no roof [Verse 2: Sash] Lately, I been crossin' out my ex's Put an X on her, that an X-b*tch But the ass big like Texas Hit it in the hills, crossin' off my check list She just gave my neck, she saw my necklace, oh sh*t In LA on [?], eatin' breakfast Diamonds certified, you can test all this sh*t I don't give a fu*k, I be reckless Me and Roddy skirt off in a coupe (Skrt) Roddy don't ever have a roof She be givin' neck up in the booth We be smokin' gas [?] [Chorus: Roddy Ricch & Pressa] I fu*k with bad b*tches, I got them big racks Tryna feel the safe, ni**a, these ni**as big cap Rollin' the big body, I had the seat back I need a bag, ni**a, fu*k all the chit-chat And I spent a thousand on my shoes Spent a hundred-twenty on the jewels Twenty 50's, this ain't nothin' new (Press) I been in a coupe, ain't got no roof (Yeah) [Verse 3: Pressa] I fu*k with bad b*tches (Bad), my 'lil b*tch don't listen (Nah) Every time I'll tell her right, she wanna do different (Why?) My lil' ni**a on the block gon' shoot (Blah) And I don't love my Glock, I need a room (Rah) Headshot, ni**a, then we skirt And I don't beg the label for a verse (Never) I need that work, my lil' b*tch need a purse (Ah) She do the worst, and act like it don't hurt, uh (Uh) And, kush deadmihana got me paranoid (Yo) My shooters they gon' cut, might just hit a boy (Murder) Came from trappin' out the bando to a livin' boy (Trap) And they just might mistake me for a lil' boy [Chorus: Roddy Ricch] I fu*k with bad b*tches, I got them big racks Tryna feel the safe, ni**a, these ni**as big cap Rollin' the big body, I had the seat back I need a bag, ni**a, fu*k all the chit-chat And I spent a thousand on my shoes Spent a hundred-twenty on the jewels Twenty 50's, this ain't nothin' new I been in a coupe, ain't got no roof