Rich The Kid - Prada (Remix) lyrics

[Intro: Rich The Kid] (Space) Okay, okay Yeah, we still Rich Forever Yeah (The ADHD) [Chorus: Rich The Kid] I been wakin' up to racks, b*tch (b*tch) Quarter milli', need a rack lift My lil' ni**a let the MAC rip (Chop, chop, chop) Left a baby on her bottom lip (Lip) Most of these hoes get hit and get flipped Most of these ni**as ain't real, can't trip Pardon me, bought a Prada fit Gettin' money, like a lot of it, okay [Verse 1: Rich The Kid] Walk through in Egypt with three hundred (Three hundred) Pull out her bed then I sleep on it (I sleep on it) Pull out my dick and she eat on it (Eat on it) She a lil' freak and she su*kin', no teeth on it I was dead broke, had to sleep on the couch Pull out the Lamb' with the keys to the house On the way to your b*tch, had to reroute (Reroute) And the money keep comin' like fu*k a drought (fu*k it) Baguettes, baguettes b*tch see my neck and my wrist and she ready Pop up on her late night like Freddy I'ma cut the b*tch off, machete My lil' ni**a let the MAC rip Seen a opp, had the whole clip Think he flexin', but this old drip I'm tryna buy a brick with poker chips Blow a bag at Saks, can't go to Barneys (Yeah) I got too many racks on me (Woo) I done said that my coupe is retarded (Retarded) Like damn, I can't even start it, valet can't park it (Damn) Gettin' more bags than a market (Bags) Put it on his head, a target ni**a wan' run with the opps that he thought was the opps We gon' mop him and chalk him [Chorus: Rich The Kid] I been wakin' up to racks, b*tch (Racks, b*tch) Quarter milli', need a rack lift My lil' ni**a let the MAC rip Left a baby on her bottom lip (Lip) Most of these hoes get hit and get flipped Most of these ni**as ain't real, can't trip Pardon me, bought a Prada fit Gettin' money, like a lot of it, okay [Verse 2: Polo G & Rich The Kid] Uh, spent the lil' bag on these Maison Margielas, walk in the bank, I'm withdrawin' whatever "Need like a M," what I told to the teller, 'member was trappin' no matter the weather Talkin' my sh*t 'cause I been doin' better, Glock with a stick, we ain't grippin' Berettas Them murderers lit, we Too Turnt forever, surgical sh*t, we'll get you together (Uh) I make a call, them killers en route, we been lampin', it ain't hard to figure you out Tracy cappin' outside of that lil' ni**a house, doin' damage, them hollows keep hittin' his scalp 1300 the gang, and I put us on the map, come and see what my ni**as about We don't fu*k with no lames, b*tches don't come to the telly to fu*k, then we kickin' 'em out But 'cause Polo my name, she do whatever I want, I just put my whole dick in her mouth Let that .40 go bang, we put his ass in the grave and they wish they can go dig him out My lil' ni**a let the Drac' spit, say less, we don't ever say sh*t Shoot it out, check out my J, b*tch, ballin' on 'em, James Naismith (Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball) [Chorus: Rich The Kid] I been wakin' up to racks, b*tch (Racks, b*tch) Quarter milli', need a rack lift My lil' ni**a let the MAC rip Left a baby on her bottom lip (Lip) Most of these hoes get hit and get flipped Most of these ni**as ain't real, can't trip Pardon me, bought a Prada fit Gettin' money, like a lot of it, okay [Outro: Rich The Kid] Okay, okay, okay