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(Whiteboy came with the bag like it's Christmas) I got money, cars, clothes I bought a chopper, I take it to show You know I'm on the road when I get in that mode I tell ma take the road, you know we next to blow And I knew it was up when I got my first load I make more off the load what I get for a show Still in the streets, speak this shit from my soul Still in the streets, speak this shit from my soul Nigga still rapping, still trapping like I ain't got shit All I do is trap, ball, hit the booth and pop shit Walk in the building, weed got me fucking up my profit I ran up my money now a nigga feeling cocky Can't nobody stop me, wrist looking rocky I'm a shooting star, these Amiris where the Glock be Catch another body, I can't wait for you to try me Baby, I'm the wave, I should've named my tape tsunami You fucking with the realest, richest youngin, you hit the lottery Why I got this forty and this chopper? 'Cause I gotta be When I go to sleep, I got that chopper right beside of me Same niggas love me is the same niggas doubted me Roddy Rackzz be flowing so insane, he the prodigy Prada bucket, Prada tee, I know these niggas proud of me Giving you the best of me, you know I got the recipe If I ain't in the mall, I'm probably in the booth or selling weed From Letras Mania