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letra de prada (remix) - rich the kid

[intro: rich the kid]
(rich)
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’ n-gga 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 n-ggas 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 d-ck and she eat on it (eat on it)
she a lil’ freak and she suckin’, no t–th 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 f-ck a drought (f-ck 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’ n-gga 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 r-t-rded (r-t-rded)
like d-mn, i can’t even start it, valet can’t park it (d-mn)
gettin’ more bags than a market (bags)
put it on his head, a target
n-gga 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’ n-gga let the mac rip
left a baby on her bottom lip (lip)
most of these hoes get hit and get flipped
most of these n-ggas 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 k!llers en route, we been lampin’, it ain’t hard to figure you out
tracy cappin’ outside of that lil’ n-gga house, doin’ damage, them hollows keep hittin’ his scalp
1300 the gang, and i put us on the map, come and see what my n-ggas about
we don’t f-ck with no lames, b-tches don’t come to the telly to f-ck, then we kickin’ ’em out
but ’cause polo my name, she do whatever i want, i just put my whole d-ck 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’ n-gga 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’ n-gga let the mac rip
left a baby on her bottom lip (lip)
most of these hoes get hit and get flipped
most of these n-ggas 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

- rich the kid

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