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off-rap - rio da yung og lyrics

[intro]
(nito, what up my n*gga?)
(it’s a wayne beat)
yeah, alright
what up, wayne?
ghetto boy sh*t
i’m in a million*dollar house off rap, man, i’m tryna rap
aight

[verse]
one*point*two just to be exact
f*ck around and blanked out, i just took a ‘zac
b*tch, when the feds grabbed me, i ain’t look back
in a gucci store, spend six racks, then get a bookbag
right now i’m high off a lot of drank, i just look mad
that n*gga ain’t got dog sh*t, that’s why he look sad
f*ck around and put an apr*n on, in my cook bag
sosa for the interception with the drank, i know snoop mad
somethin’ tellin’ me to do a hook bad
but i’m still in my punch bag, you know, hook, jab
sprite d*mn near gone, know my cup mad
left in a maybach even though i had a bus pass
he went to jail and got g*y, wasn’t gettin’ enough ass
heard a n*gga took your cell phone, you know that look bad
don’t give a f*ck how much this jacket cost, i ain’t puttin’ it back
mike saved the day, i missed a shot and he put it back
trish with the quagen taste like glass red
that night them n*ggas stole my jewelry, i was half dead
i popped three 30s, drunk an eight, and took a half a xan’
bro, i’m still paranoid, that’s why i back in
where the f*ck you get that gun from? what’s that, a mac*10?
i seen a n*gga throw his life away ’cause he ain’t had hands
ask me am i gettin’ money? look at cass pants
my son got on some amiris with a roll in ’em
and he only seven years old, n*gga
i don’t buy diamonds no more, i’m a gold digger
ten*mil’ chunky, but the four*five hole bigger
b*tch p*ssy hole loose, we stuck a pole in her
did y’all listen to my tape? i put my soul in it
tomorrow, i’m wearin’ slacks, i might pop out like a old n*gga
bro precise with that glock, he a dome hitter
oh, you tryna talk sh*t? i’m the wrong n*gga
ayy, mike, come here real quick, bring your phone with you
this white boy tryna give us ten to send a song to him
i just know your phone slap, you got my old number
i think like a og, but my soul younger
a thousand horses in this b*tch, can’t keep control of it
that house in the a, ayy, ri, how you much owe? nothing
let’s talk about flint, got twenty*four of ’em
stop worryin’ ’bout what i do and go and own somethin’
twenty*nine hunnid for the chrome joggie
promoters on some bullsh*t, let’s start our own party
crazy, i got dog sh*t and don’t own cartis
ain’t got enough to buy the h*llcat, but i don’t want a charger
my brother tryna get some drink, i don’t wanna charge him
oh, bro, you want a verse? give me four thousand
what veeze say? we already big, but finna go larger
this bracelet right here was twenty*four thousand
n*gga, f*ck your og, i got my own mama
three*pointer in a five*karat make it look harder
i’m finna put on every chain, make ’em look harder
smash the gas in the trx, i got a foot problem
nah, that n*gga feet stink, he need some foot powder
we ain’t got no slugs in here, all buckshotters
i know a n*gga with some money, never took shotters
how the f*ck i get indicted and i don’t even know how to cook powder?
[outro]
what the f*ck?

- rio da yung og lyrics

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