Young Dolph - South Memphis Rugrats (Remix) lyrics

[Intro: Young Dolph] I say what I mean, I mean what I say b*tch [Verse 1: Young Dolph] Gone in sixty seconds, never let a b*tch stress me (Uh-uh) Before the microphone, I made a milli' off the celly (Yeah) I love to see her walk away because it look like jelly (Shake) Went from zero to sixty in two seconds on Pirellis I'm always at the jewelry store, I got a diamond fetish (Ice) Smokin' on this kale while I'm countin' up this lettuce (Yeah) Stack it to the sky, I believe that I can fly Told the man in the mirror that you one hell of a guy If I can do it, so can you, but sh*t, who the hell am I? Who said it's lonely at the top? 'Cause that's a motherfu*kin' lie I brought my homeboys with me, ballin' in South Memphis like Dubai Rolls Royces back-to-back-to-back-to-back, oh my god (God, god, god, god, god, god, god, god, god) I mean that sh*t (God, god, god, god, god, god, god) Hold up, let me finish (Wait) She so fine, I put it in and tried to touch her kidneys I'm too motherfu*kin' rich to go and eat at Denny's (What?) But fu*k that, I'm in a Jack Pirtle's drive-thru in a Bentley (Hey) Front seat got my semi (Uh), opps, yeah, I got plenty (For real, though) Playin' with these M's, but I started out with pennies (Yeah) A hundo in my skinnies (Yeah) Louis XIII, shots of top-shelf Remy (Yeah) Grew up thuggin' just like Hoover Deuce, baby Jimmy b*tch, hey (Hey) [Verse 2: Snupe Bandz] Yeah, I grew up thuggin', I'm a South Memphis rugrat (Rugrat) Baguettes drippin' on my neck, these b*tches love that (Drip) When I pop out, I got big, gigantic, stupid racks (Big racks) fu*k a job, I beat the block, I had to flip a pack (Flip it) Self-made ni**a, I'm hustlin' (Hustlin') Can't go back to the days when I ain't have nothin' But I won't forget 'bout the struggle (Nah) I was just stackin' up racks in the trap in my shoebox, now I stuff that sh*t in a duffle (For real) My plug keep sendin' them loads and I just keep flushin' 'em, call him back, I need another one (Another one) Ridin' 'round town with a pocket full of Jacksons, I stack up them hundreds and fifties (Fifties) Keep me a Draco, it got a banana clip, and the AR came with titties Thirty-three shots in my Glock, Scottie Pippen (Yeah) Double my cup, so you know what I'm sippin' (Double up) Really havin' this sh*t, ni**a, no, I ain't trippin' (Nah) Paper Route the mob, ni**a, I'm never flippin' (Yeah, on gang) [Verse 3: PaperRoute Woo] Yeah, I ain't never flippin' (Flippin') Only thing that a young ni**a is flippin' is these motherfu*kin' packs that I'm gettin' (Yeah, that I'm gettin') And I ain't worried 'bout none of these lil' broke-ass ni**as or these b*tches (b*tches) Everything a ni**a do out here in these streets, they just gon' mimic (Yeah, mimic) Seventy-five hundred for a show, lil' ni**a, I'm booked, ain't no gimmick (Yeah, no gimmick) All my cars 6.0s, them b*tches V8, yeah, they Hemis (Hemis) Young ni**a really havin' motion, I done served the whole damn Memphis (Memphis) Make a play with white, it end up bitter or Mac Miller (Mac Miller) Really made a killin', off of vacuum sealin' (Sealin') Never been in love 'cause I can't really catch no feelings (No feelings) Never had no nine-to-five 'cause I love drug dealin' (Drug dealin') Been up in that field, lil' ni**a, go and ask lil' Willy (Lil' Willy) Beat the block up 'til the dope all gone (Yeah, yeah) Trappin' real, real hard off of two phones (Yeah, both of 'em)