Birdman - Fly Rich (Future, Tyga, Meek) | Текст песни

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• Birdman
• Fly Rich (Future, Tyga, Meek)

[Intro: Future]
We gon’ get to it, nigga
By any means necessary
We were born like this

[Hook: Future]
I be on some fly nigga shit when I step out…
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about
I be on some rich nigga shit when I step out…
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about
I be on some fly, rich nigga shit, steppin’ out
I be on that fly, rich nigga shit, steppin’ out
Fuck what y’all talkin’ about

[Verse 1: Tyga]
Quarter-mill for the car, quarter-mill on the arm
Black Double-R, back the fuck off
Drophead, cut your head off, hard top, no soft
Wet pussy turn me on when it keep me hard
King shit, Versace tiles, I ain’t dryin’ off
Marble floors, you dusty niggas couldn’t walk on
Jesus walked on water, so I’mma walk on charters
Private jets, baguettes, only fuck with ballers
All this, half a mill, first week of August
I ain’t even doin’ shows, I’m just workin’ on the album
Forty for the feesha, I just payed my mama’s Visa
You in the club breathin’, that Ten X, you niggas Beavis
She give me butt, head – get brain like a genius
I got that dope shit, the 80s chrome Alpinas
White Beamer – my son gon’ inherit this flow
You niggas gumball drops on the bottom of my sole

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Meek Mill]
Young nigga, we Rich Gang
Came up from that rich game
Picture me rollin’ down…
Black Double-R with your bitch, mane
With that top off and that drophead
Pull up on ‘em, they drop dead
Niggas talkin’ that bird shit
When them birds came, they was not dead
And I was out there with that work
From the 15th to the 1st
My clique mean and they merk
We’ll let them clips squeeze like dirt
When it come to them dollars, nigga, why bother?
These niggas don’t want no problems
‘Cause I’ll kill all y’all dead, put a price on your head
Get your brain, I doubt it
I be on that fly shit – M-O-B that mob shit
Boy, I’m talkin’ G5 shit
Fifty racks for that ride, shit
That ain’t yours, that’s my bitch
You clocked out and I signed in
We young niggas, we grindin’
We shinin’ like diamonds

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Mystikal]
I’m in the club passin’ weed to the bitches, like “hit this shit”
Your stupid ass outside talkin’ ‘bout “get me in!”
Should’ve known I was a fool when I moved
When I pulled up in that Bentley
Told y’all I was against it, somethin’ like a pimp
Don’t say I didn’t – million-dollar flow
Got a lot of dough, brand new clothes
VIP for niggas like me
Wish a motherfucker would touch that rope
Rappers, hustlers, dealers, killers
Thugs, goons, beasts, guerillas
Money, cars, jewels, chinchillas
Jets, cribs, condos, villas
Say that, then… (hold up)
Goddamn right, bitch I’ve been fly since way back when
That’s right, I am YMCM, Grave Street, play that, then
Runnin’ off the tread like a motherfuckin’ masthead
You know that’s him
Tryna sham when you come around stars like us
They threw the din
Ain’t got your game tight, ain’t got your swag up
Shame on them
Your legs too little and your T-Shirt big
Nigga, go to the gym
For the love of my clique, we up in this bitch
So sorry that your girl’s suckin’ my dick
Throwin’ money in the air like I’m sick of this shit

[Hook]

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