Rich Boy – Drop (Freestyle) Lyrics
My Maserati and Ferrari like to chill with my Mercedes
See my Bentley what I got when my two Phantoms had a baby
Ain't that crazy? Why you lazy?
I get so polite, Ms. Daisy
Fuck you Pussy-Nigga, pay me!
My Lambo' do 'bout two-eighty
Thought you sellin', heard you tellin'
Thought you killin' while you stealin'
Thought you dealin' while you chillin'
You ain't ballin' with a million
God made me super rich, the Devil made you stupid bitch!
You could be just like me if you quit with all that stupid shit
Why you actin' hard now? You must want to go see God now
The same niggers you were beafin' with are up in your yard now
If you 'bout to run Dog, I guess you better start now
You forgot to bring your gun so you got to use your hard knocks
It's hard to get rich but it ain't shit to go to hell;
It's hard to sell dope but it ain't shit to go to jail;
It's hard to keep it real but it ain't shit for you to tell;
I smoke so much of this that I can't even hide the smell
We marijuana farmers, all our rides look like transformers
Tell the pretty girls to pull their titties out and dance for us
You don't need a gym class
Crack like Slim Fast
Take a hit and lose a fuckin' hundred pounds quick fast
Snow cone, the Chain on
I'm default, the Chain on
My blunt goin' keep the game off
We never take a game off!
Find a hater, sign a hater!
Let 'em see my elevator
Hundreds in my 'frigerator
Now they know we're gettin' paper! (x2)
Pull the coupe, the Escalade
The enemy's on respirators
Million dollar generators
Sly defense, investigate us
For fetchin' cars, the prison bars
Menage e trois, they're playing cards
I swear its hard!
Edit song description to add:
- Historical context: what album the song's on, how popular it was
- The sample used for the beat — use WhoSampled.com and wikipedia as references