rich the kid - real niggaz lyrics
[chorus: rich homie quan]
aston martin, panamera
bad b-tches, hit ’em with the hamma
maserati, deuce ferrari
i got horse b-tches, i’m the life of the party
got the 3.5, and my night just started
i heard she ’bout to get high, so imma light this spark
and i be goin’ so fast, check my mileage
and i be blowin’ on gas, like i work at pilot
autostart my car, ho
[?] my barcode, check money, wells fargo
then i might louis v my wardrobe
i drop half a ten, on my earlobe
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
[verse 1: rich the kid]
louis v my everything, true religion my everything
i hit the mall and i cash out, b-tch really, i could buy anything
aston martin, new ferrari
she love the way i kick it like i knew karate
in the bed with three hoes, blowin’ out them zero’s
your b-tch is a ocean like where the f-ck is nemo?
all i know is foreign but my b-tch red
i do not understand what that b-tch said
[chorus: rich homie quan]
aston martin, panamera
bad b-tches, hit ’em with the hamma
maserati, deuce ferrari
i got horse b-tches, i’m the life of the party
got the 3.5, and my night just started
i heard she ’bout to get high, so imma light this spark
and i be goin’ so fast, check my mileage
and i be blowin’ on gas, like i work at pilot
autostart my car, ho
[?] my barcode, check money, wells fargo
then i might louis v my wardrobe
i drop half a ten, on my earlobe
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
[verse 2: trouble]
rich homie, rich the kid, trouble rich, trouble kid
so much flavor, you unable to catch it like i [?]
f-cked so many b-tches you would think i was born with a couple d-cks
duct tape the mob, i swear to god, i would never switch
aston martin, ain’t got me now
but i’ve been stackin’ all of this paper up to spread it ‘mongst the fam
push start it, too r-t-rded
still ride with that yappa, middle finger to them coppers
[chorus: rich homie quan]
aston martin, panamera
bad b-tches, hit ’em with the hamma
maserati, deuce ferrari
i got horse b-tches, i’m the life of the party
got the 3.5, and my night just started
i heard she ’bout to get high, so imma light this spark
and i be goin’ so fast, check my mileage
and i be blowin’ on gas, like i work at pilot
autostart my car, ho
[?] my barcode, check money, wells fargo
then i might louis v my wardrobe
i drop half a ten, on my earlobe
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
i don’t f-ck with you, i f-ck with real n-ggas
if you lame as h-ll, then i don’t deal with yah
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