Roddy Ricch - LIVE LIFE FAST Lyrics
llf
My OG Pete told me
The goal in life was to have fast money, fast bitches, and fast cars
But the consequences behind that life is glory
But all fast things must slow down at some point
Or life will force you to stop
His result was twenty-six years in the federal penitentiary
I've realized I've lived fast, I wanna take my time
Time is the most expensive luxury in the world
It's something you spend and never get back
But you never know how much you have left
They say we gon' be livin' like this for the rest of our life
They say we gon' be livin' like this for the rest of tonight
You know they gon' be bangin' this shit for the rest of our lives
Live fast and die young
Live fast and die young
Live fast and die young
(Ooh, yeah, ooh)
Live fast and die young, ohh, ohh
Writer: Frederick Douglas Knight, James Brown, Kanye Omari West, Marvin Gaye, Rodrick Moore, William Leonard Roberts
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, CARLTON WORLDWIDE MUSIC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
thailand
Flew my bitch out from Thailand, she do the most (most)
My niggas hot like some Cayenne, sittin' in your throat (throat)
They spend a quarter million in the private, just for the show (show)
Shawty gon' call a nigga "Your Highness", 'cause we f*ck on the low
And I get about twelve for a key
If a nigga playin' chess, I'm king
My niggas ridin' with Berettas, f*ck a sting
You know I'm poppin' every lil' ting
Got a lot of D, got a lot of hundreds
Go to buy the bitch with a lot of money
You know Bird loungin' by the pool
You know Donbo comin' with the woo (the woo)
I think Keefa just bought some new sneakers
Five thousand, them bitches brand new
I was ridin' on the jet with lil' Setty
He my lil' bro but that nigga heavy
I spent twenty-five thou' on her titties
They took her ass fat right out her belly
I want some diamonds, I want some baguetties
Eliantte callin' every time I'm ready
Off a couple bars, I don't need a medic
If I did it, then I meant it and I said it
Dwayne Wade, how I kept the heat
Say she a squirter, it got wet on the seat
I got a burden like a man in a meet
Feel like I buy another safe every week
Fivio said she a wetty, I was sittin' at the trap house
Whippin' shit out the crocker like Betty
All a nigga need 'bout ten racks, he'll pop you if you pop a thirty
My lil' nigga do dirty, he just need the lil' wordie
Give a f*ck 'bout the verdict
Flew my bitch out from Thailand, she do the most (most)
My niggas hot like some Cayenne, sittin' in your throat (throat)
They spend a quarter million in the private, just for the show (show)
Shawty gon' call a nigga "Your Highness", 'cause we f*ck on the low
And I get about twelve for a key
If a nigga playin' chess, I'm king
My niggas ridin' with Berettas, f*ck a sting
You know I'm poppin' every lil' ting
Got a lot of D, got a lot of hundreds
Go to buy the bitch with a lot of money
Ayy, if I got the time, f*ck her like a menace
Open up her tonsils like she at the dentist
Writin' checks, had to work on my penmanship
What you got? I spent more on the fit, I spent more on my bitch
Twenty bitches on top of the Ritz
Got the store, you should cop you some kicks
We gettin' money, hooray, hooray, hooray
Havin' dodey on dodey, ain't talkin' no stimulus
We went to war for this shit
When you stackin' up paper on paper on paper
You gon' need some more of this shit, huh
Livin' prototype, they gon' copy a nigga
I done spent some M's on my property, nigga
Got rich off "The Box" how I box me a nigga
Flew my bitch out from Thailand, she do the most (most)
My niggas hot like some Cayenne, sittin' in your throat (throat)
They spend a quarter million in the private, just for the show (show)
Shawty gon' call a nigga "Your Highness", 'cause we f*ck on the low
And I get about twelve for a key
If a nigga playin' chess, I'm king
My niggas ridin' with Berettas, f*ck a sting
You know I'm poppin' every lil' ting
Got a lot of D, got a lot of hundreds
Go to buy the bitch with a lot of money
Writer: Joshua Luellen, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
all good
(Ronny J, please turn me up)
Started off last week, it was all good
Watchin' Russell, Lebron James on the hardwood
Shawty told me to f*ck her face, so it's all good
Bitch, it ain't no way I done went Hollywood
My hoes all good, I f*ck 'em all good
My credit all good, bitch, I'm always good
My pockets all good, my mama's still straight
A bakery chef, how I been flippin' all this cake
Got a flock of famous hoes, took 'em to Barbados
Purple drink, sippin', bitch, why you on that K-Roll?
We ain't at no playground, I'ma show you how I play though
Bitch say I'm playin' mind games with her, she call me Plato
I want a motherf*ckin' Janet Jackson
I'm sittin' in front of the TV, thinkin' I need a actress
Yo' wheel cost more than your front door
All I do is point at the ho and she come closer
Body like a two liter, ass fat as hell, nigga
Got a smart bitch at the 'partment, about to graduate from Yale
A high maintenance nigga, bitches compliment my nails
You know it ain't no goin' against the grain, I'ma prevail
This coupe talk, the spoiler lookin' like a damn tail
Only five hundred whips like this Demon out of hell
We outside, you been inside, nigga, we can tell
My crib double gated, save that shit for all my haters
Started off last week, it was all good
Watchin' Russell, Lebron James on the hardwood
Shawty told me to f*ck her face, so it's all good
Bitch, it ain't no way I done went Hollywood
My hoes all good, I f*ck 'em all good
My credit all good, bitch, I'm always good
My pockets all good, my mama's still straight
A bakery chef, how I been flippin' all this cake
My racks all good, my bitch all good
My wrists all good, my hood all good
Sittin' courtside higher than the moon
Rich nigga, f*ck your bitch like a goon
Rolls-Royce Ghost floatin', tycoon
Pink diamonds, solitaries, cost me a stack of blues
Posted up with the robber, servin' dog food
Smoked 'em up, roll a opp up, knock him out his shoes
Standin' in the trenches with my jewelry
I put all my killers on security
My shooters, they evil, sittin' courtside with a heater
How the f*ck I'ma ever go Hollywood?
I switched out my stripper with a pop star
In a vehicle too fast to stop for a cop car
I got pink diamonds on me, it was dirty Sprite
Bad bitch rockin' Louis, she look off-white
Started off last week, it was all good
Watchin' Russell, Lebron James on the hardwood
Shawty told me to f*ck her face, so it's all good
Bitch, it ain't no way I done went Hollywood
My hoes all good, I f*ck 'em all good
My credit all good, bitch, I'm always good
My pockets all good, my mama's still straight
A bakery chef, how I been flippin' all this cake
My hoes all good, I f*ck 'em all good
My credit all good, bitch, I'm always good
My pockets all good, my mama's still straight
A bakery chef, how I been flippin' all this cake
A bakery chef, how I been flippin' all this cake
My credit all good, bitch, I'm always good
Writer: Keith Parker, Nayvadius Demun Wilburn, Rodrick Wayne Jr. Moore, Ronald O'neil Jr. Spence
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
rollercoastin
Rollercoastin'
Roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mh
Roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mmh-mmh, mmh-mmh
Rollercoastin', mh, mmh-mmh
Ayy, hop off a jet, hop to a check
Get to the money, and then what's next?
I'm tryna pack out a gymnasium, like yeah, if he was young
Had a pornstar with the titties out, pussy out just for fun
She like to go down south and her brain go dumb
How you say want a nigga life, but you can't carry no tongue?
That's why my dick inside her mouth and I get buried in her tongue
'Cause you know that's what you need if you have a long day
If she don't go both ways, then she go the wrong way
I been holdin' down the culture, I cultivate
And it's really, really sad when I see it in your face, I think
You rollercoastin'
Rollercoastin'
Roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mh
Roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mmh-mmh, mmh-mmh
Rollercoastin', mh, mmh-mmh
Keep it rollin', rollin', rollin', keep it real as they come
Been up and down so many times, they got these nerves goin' numb
I got some niggas that go by "Murder", why they sip red rum?
Red beams and green beams on the Glocks and all the K's
My lil' nigga ride with extended mops on all occasions
I ain't surprised by my baby mama, she don't amaze me
They try to paint a picture of a nigga like I'm fugazi
And run to the internet every time she feel crazy
I try to pray to God, hopin' he will save me
I ain't never come this far not to take care of my baby
Gotta get my summer off, that's how my mama raised me
I gotta stay involved even though they tryna jade me
Rollercoastin'
Roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mmh
Roller-roller-roller-roller-rollercoastin', mmh-mmh, mmh-mmh
Rollercoastin', mmh, mmh-mmh
Good mornin', Boofy, I pray all is well with you
I'm praying that you have a prosperous concert tonight
Stay focused, know that your granny loves you
And I might not be there in the flesh, but I am there in the spirit
Love you, man, alright, talk to you soon
Writer: Eric Sandoval, Hagan Lange, Luke Clay, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © LUSH MUSIC LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
hibachi
(Wheezy outta here)
What a nigga do, you don't ever appreciate
You give me attitude, I just might go cheat today
It's 2021, so I'm plannin' on lead the way
I been plottin' my in's and out's, and nigga gotta put my cheese away
Took a bad bitch to Hibachi in Huaraches
Got too many jewels on my squad, f*ck a Nazi
Two hundred fifty cash, hit Japan and get some chopsticks
I've been with lil' man, countin' up bands, I ain't gotta drop shit
What's your ETA? I ain't even eat today
I know some nigga 'cross the street sell it for a cheaper rate
Still gotta run it up, run it up like I don't got shit
Always say f*ck these niggas and these bitches 'cause they fake
More money than you lil' boys, it ain't no reason for me to hate
Anybody try my shit, I'm tryna shoot 'em in they face
They know I'm a demon, caught somebody 'round the way
Yeah, I pull up speedin', but nigga, I ain't tryna race
Young nigga on the scene, I got my Rollie stickin' up
Everybody with me on beans, they already know we glizzied up
Shoe pass in the county jail, rockin' Yves Saint Laurent
F*ckin' on a cracker bitch, Britney Minaj
F*ck 'em all, we gon' ball (21)
Stand tall, never fall
Bad bitch answer every time I call (facts, 21)
Got my Glock, use protection, I don't hit her raw (on God)
Eatin' noodles in the trenches where they break the law (pussy)
Piss me off, I just might cheat, I got a bad reflex (21)
I got tattoos in my face but I like R&B sex (21)
Hit a couple flight attendants 'cause I ride big jets
And I still ain't met a bitch that I'll pay to keep yet (facts)
That's deep (21)
Savage own his masters, ain't no shackles on my feet (facts)
Know they takin' pictures, tryna calculate a G (rats)
I got tunnel vision, need binoculars to see (21)
Took her to Hibachi, all she wanted was my meat (facts)
Gang hit the corner, nigga stopped, dropped and freeze (pussy)
VVS diamonds in my ear, Christmas Eve (21)
Your lil' bitch a thot, you need a DNA from Steve (on God)
My brother sellin' P's, he say his money grow on trees (21, 21, 21, 21)
What a nigga do, you don't ever appreciate
You give me attitude, I just might go cheat today
It's 2021, so I'm plannin' on lead the way
I been plottin' my in's and out's, and nigga gotta put my cheese away
Took a bad bitch to Hibachi in Huaraches (in Huaraches, in Huaraches)
Got too many jewels on my squad, f*ck a Nazi (f*ck a Nazi, f*ck a Nazi)
Two hundred fifty cash, hit Japan and get some chopsticks (chopsticks, chopsticks)
I've been with lil' man, countin' up bands, I ain't gotta drop shit
(Drop shit, drop shit, drop shit, drop shit)
Writer: Bill Kapri, Dez Wright, Rodrick Moore, Sheyaa Abraham-Joseph, Wesley Glass
Copyright: Lyrics © Ultra Tunes, BMG Rights Management, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
paid my dues ft
Had to call my accountant to make sure a nigga wasn't trippin'
I done ran up a check, lookin' like a nigga doin' fitness
Late night, back of the club, searchin' and fishin'
I went back to the Glock 'cause everybody talkin' 'bout switches
If I said I f*ck with you, I f*ck with you
When they pile up that money on money on money on money
We see what these niggas do
I ain't never gon' run, you know I ain't holdin' my tongue
For these niggas, I tell the truth
They say I'm a young nigga and I keep it too solid
You know I done paid my dues
You know I done paid my dues
I look at my phone and see what bitch I'm finna hit
I scroll and pick and choose
Roddy and Take', they know it ain't safe
So I suggest that you play it cool
They let us in and gave us the space to win
So how could a nigga lose?
Been havin' money, I came out the womb
To havin' that shit on in middle school
Year after year, gotta keep it comin'
Keep the wardrobe and the wheel new
When all of these hoes see how me and Take' move
It get crowded, I take two
And I'm knockin' that bitch down on the first date
I ain't never gotta take two
I got hoes on hoes on hoes on hoes
They swing on each other like Babe Ruth
I go to Fashion Week sittin' on the side with a double cup
I got a sweet tooth
All-white Rollie Sky-Dweller, and the face K.C. Blue
Plain Jane gold presidential, I got yellow rings, look like Pikachu
Look in my garage, this ain't no façade
They got different eyes when they peek at you
Had to call my accountant to make sure a nigga wasn't trippin'
I done ran up a check, lookin' like a nigga doin' fitness
Late night, back of the club, searchin' and fishin'
I went back to the Glock 'cause everybody talkin' 'bout switches
If I said I f*ck with you, I f*ck with you
When they pile up that money on money on money on money
We see what these niggas do
I ain't never gon' run, you know I ain't holdin' my tongue
For these niggas, I tell the truth
They say I'm a young nigga and I keep it too solid
You know I done paid my dues
You know I done paid my dues
Still gettin'
Still sippin' on the lean like I'm motherf*ckin' pimpin'
Driveway loaded than a bitch
My driveway loaded than a bitch, nigga (bitch, nigga, bitch, nigga)
My driveway loaded than a bitch, nigga (bitch, nigga, bitch, nigga)
My driveway loaded than a bitch, nigga (bitch, nigga, bitch, nigga)
Writer: Kirsnick Khari Ball, Matthew Samuels, Rodrick Moore Jr., Scotty L. Coleman
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC
crash the party
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy-ayy
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
Ayy, ayy
Use the music as therapy to exorcise how I feel
Tell me, is it fake love or is it real?
She tell me every time I talk, I give her chills
Bought my dad a 911, three hundred thousand on his body
Gotta watch out for these snitches, gotta watch out for these bitches
Gotta whisper to you niggas 'cause all the hatin' niggas might just hear me
Especially if you came from the trenches, you can't fall in love with no bitches
Gotta stay on your ten toes and keep your senses, ooh
I know sometimes she wanna trip, I know sometimes I had to dip
I ain't got no pride, I pour up a fifth, all of the times I pull up in VIP
Walk in the room and I know they watchin' me
She wanna f*ck just 'cause they got my songs on repeat, ayy
Took some time off and now they think they got me beat
But the whole damn time, you niggas been heatin' up my seats
The tour life got me in light so I can see
Nigga, I ain't ever choose this shit, it came to me
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy-ayy
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
Ayy, ayy
Use the music as therapy to exorcise how I feel
Tell me, is it fake love or is it real?
She tell me every time I talk, I give her chills
Bought my dad a 911, three hundred thousand on his body
Let you niggas know it's my city, I had to go crash the party
Took a Puerto Rican freak out Delilah, she call me papi
I can't pick none of your hoes 'cause they talk too much
That's just how I feel, that's just how I feel
I was walkin' through Compton one night at like
Like two a.M. In the morning
I just left my girl house, I found out she was on some bullshit
You know what I'm sayin', and
I walked past the 91, I was walkin' all the way down Central
Past the graveyard and shit
I had made a l-, a right on Alondra, um
Walked up by the side of the airport
And I passed the hood, you know what I'm sayin', and
And I went all the way to The Cedars
I had pulled up on my DJ at the time and
He was just tellin' me keep my head up and shit like that
Shit was crazy, you know?
I felt like I wanted to die, I felt like I ain't even wanna be no more 'cause
I just, I ain't have shit at the time, you know what I'm sayin'? And
Music was all I really had, so
You know just from goin' to jail and
F*cking around in the streets, I knew it wasn't shit
So I had to just, keep my head up, keep goin', get focused
Grind that shit out, you know what I'm sayin'?
Writer: Keith Parker, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
no way
Can't trust that bitch, no way, no way, no way, no
Got a young nigga lit
I just turned twenty-two in Turks and Caicos
I got a little problem with tellin' the truth to her
She say I be too annoyin', I put Chanel on the ho
I gotta buy her the whole damn Chanel store
Bussin' these fits since a lil' boy
Ayy, mix the J's with the double C, you know what I mean?
I'm in a daze, all of this cash got me feel like I'm in a dream
You know I'm supreme, I got family ties like I'm K-Dot and Baby Keem
I got bitches that know what I mean, toot her up and I f*ck on the ting
No way, no way, no way, no way (way)
I ain't never go behind your back
I gotta stand tall and tell you to your face
And I hold it close when a nigga embracing, I don't ever gotta chase it
I don't ever gotta talk, came from the pavement, I was always granny's favorite
Got too many Richard Milles to ever have time for a lil' bitty bitch
Got too many plugs in the streets to ever walk around without a stick
Got too many hoes that never have a lil' shorty on top of the dick
Got too many life expenses to ever stop popping my shit
Can't trust that bitch, no way, no way, no way, no
Got a young nigga lit
I just turned twenty-two in Turks and Caicos
I got a little problem with tellin' the truth to her
She say I be too annoyin', I put Chanel on the ho
I gotta buy her the whole damn Chanel store
Bussin' these fits since a lil' boy
Ayy, been bussin' these bitches since a lil' boy
I'm a big dawg, ain't a lil' boy
I know you're hear me, lil' boy
But, you can't see me, lil'
Wockesha don't do me no justice, I need red
That bitch don't do me no justice if she don't give head
That bitch don't do me no justice if she don't find bread
I got niggas in the Bay that be on the 49 with the motherf*ckin' .9
I got niggas that's on the fort yard, went four times, on this fifth time
Ever seen a snake turn to a rat like 6ix9ine?
Got a Rolls-Royce with the thick back and I got a bitch, thick spine
Put a green beam on a lil' Glock, best believe I'ma get mine
Can't trust that bitch, no way, no way, no way, no
Got a young nigga lit
I just turned twenty-two in Turks and Caicos
I got a little problem with tellin' the truth to her
She say I be too annoyin', I put Chanel on the ho
I gotta buy her the whole damn Chanel store
Bussin' these fits since a lil' boy
Ayy, been bussin' these bitches since a lil' boy
I'm a big dawg, ain't a lil' boy
I know you're hear me, lil' boy
But, you can't see me, lil'
Roddy, what up, baby? It's J. Foxx
You killin' 'em, man
Ayy, listen, now, I know this album is called LIVE LIFE FAST
But, you know what I'm seein'?
I don't think these young cats out here really know how to slow it down
You know like-like-like me and Ye did it back in the day
I mean, I don't think these motherf*ckers know about
Marvin Gaye, Luther Vandross, or-or-or a little Anita
So, right here, Roddy, I think what you should do is
Slow that shit down, man
And set this motherf*cker off, right
Writer: Dez Wright, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
slow it down
Slow it down when you come around, yeah, yeah (yeah)
Told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round (yeah)
Ayy, told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round (slow it down, baby)
Told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round (slow it down)
Ayy, told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round ('round, 'round)
Ayy, told her slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round (slow it down)
When you come around, 'round
When you come around here
When you come around here
Slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Slow it down
Slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Slow it down when you come around, 'round, 'round
Ooh, slow it down
Slow it down (yeah)
Writer: Alexandra Isley, David Cabral, Keith Parker, Rodrick Moore, Tyrone Griffin
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
man made
Poured up off this syrup, I ain't even think about coughin'
Told her, "You not my only bitch, I probably got some more options"
Better keep that shit proper
Better watch your tongue when you talk to me 'cause I get turned off
Had to see a lot of niggas sacrifice, I had to see a lot of niggas cross me
If I tell you I love you, I mean it, you know you can't tell me I ain't tried
All these bitches with they mixed feelings always tryna f*ck up the vibe
I work from Monday to Monday, always gon' listen to what my granny say
Proud of myself 'cause I'm self-made, a lot of you niggas is man-made
My niggas say I been hot too long, I probably caught a fever
I get all this guala, look out for my people, I look out for the evils
If a nigga a fraud and he X-ed his self out, then I probably ain't need him
Bulletproof on the motherf*ckin' diesel, jumpsuit like Evel Knievel
Bought a fresh Kelly bag for a diva, make a hundred million dollars off Vida
I can never keep all of this shit to myself, so that's why I ain't put on no shelf
I do this shit for my motherf*ckin' city, you know how I'm comin'
Especially when they actin' too funny
I get the same love from the crib even when I go out to London
I be kickin' shit like kung-fu, keep the green on my like Jumanji
We got a couple hoes out in Trinidad, we don't fumble bags, we ain't clumsy
I done already told you that I work hard from a Monday to a Monday
In a Maybach, Maybach, f*ckin' with some Gunplay
Poured up off this syrup, I ain't even think about coughin'
Told her, "You not my only bitch, I probably got some more options"
Better keep that shit proper
Better watch your tongue when you talk to me 'cause I get turned off
Had to see a lot of niggas sacrifice, I had to see a lot of niggas cross me
If I tell you I love you, I mean it, you know you can't tell me I ain't tried
All these bitches with they mixed feelings always tryna f*ck up the vibe
I work from Monday to Monday, always gon' listen to what my granny say
Proud of myself 'cause I'm self-made, a lot of you niggas is man-made
Take a bitch out different coastes, I was on a private 'fore COVID (ayy)
When we slide to the Lear, either I'ma Maybach or I'ma Rolls it
We Givenchy all the way down to the toes, this a real lifestyle we chose
I keep on my jewelry, she keep on her jewelry whenever we havin' some sex
And it's too wet, shawty like X
She get right, wet, give her pipe, yes
Told her pop her pussy like a Tesla
Can you keep it tighter than my schedule?
God bless a nigga, I'm a great one
I be tired of countin' up these decimals
Poured up off this syrup, I ain't even think about coughin'
Told her, "You not my only bitch, I probably got some more options"
Better keep that shit proper
Better watch your tongue when you talk to me 'cause I get turned off
Had to see a lot of niggas sacrifice, I had to see a lot of niggas cross me
If I tell you I love you, I mean it, you know you can't tell me I ain't tried
All these bitches with they mixed feelings always tryna f*ck up the vibe
I work from Monday to Monday, always gon' listen to what my granny say
Proud of myself 'cause I'm self-made, a lot of you niggas is man-made
Writer: Bishiop Grinnage, Rashad Mcneil, Rodrick Moore, Terry Wallace, Xavier Baird
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., EMPIRE PUBLISHING
murda one
(Whoa, Kenny)
Murder one, murder one
I think I invented this shit from the hood, but they call me phenomenal one
I was in Miami, took her out to Tootsie's, put some dick on her tongue
Oh Lord, this 'cause she know that I'm the one, one, one
Murder one, murder one
So I put a body kit on a Rover, she ain't even gotta ask
She wanna shoot the shit like a soldier 'cause she know I got the cash
Brand new designer, gotta pull off the tag
Hoppin' out the private, gotta pull off the bag
I'm the shit, huh
Live this lifestyle, I get paid to talk my shit
This ain't entertainment, nigga, we got the sticks
What set is you claim 'cause the opps got hit, huh
Dr. Miami, come now, I gotta go get the strap, new tits, huh
I spent a quarter mil' last year, rollin' the big dawg appeal, huh
And the plug gave me a bad baby, had to play Dr. Phil, huh
Rushin' a hundred yards, f*ck a quarter back, I gotta get me a mil'
And you hate 'cause you knowin' I'm better
Water wet, should've wore an umbrella
Murder one, murder one
I think I invented this shit from the hood, but they call me phenomenal one
I was in Miami, took her out to Tootsie's, put some dick on her tongue
Oh Lord, this 'cause she know that I'm the one, one, one
Murder one, murder one
So I put a body kit on a Rover, she ain't even gotta ask
She wanna shoot the shit like a soldier 'cause she know I got the cash (uh, uh)
Brand new designer, gotta pull off the tag
Hoppin' out the private, gotta pull off the bag
Murders (murders)
I keep a shooter at my service (boaw)
I don't like beefin' with Gerbers
He probably tell, he makin' me nervous (uh)
I don't wanna meet in the middle (nah)
Huh, let's keep it official (yeah)
You tryna get lit off of me, go and mention my name
In your song 'cause you need me to diss you
Stop runnin' 'cause I need 'em to hit you
Ain't give me nothin' when I needed a nickel
You niggas could die for not keepin' it with you
If I ain't call you, then I needed the mission (boaw)
This shit is bussin' (this shit is bussin')
This shit a bustdown, look (this shit a bustdown, look)
If he catch a body then make it home safe
And then throw it away, it's a touchdown, uh (boaw)
Murder one, murder one
I think I invented this shit from the hood, but they call me phenomenal one
I was in Miami, took her out to Tootsie's, put some dick on her tongue
Oh Lord, this 'cause she know that I'm the one, one, one
Murder one, murder one
So I put a body kit on a Rover, she ain't even gotta ask
She wanna shoot the shit like a soldier 'cause she know I got the cash (uh, uh)
Brand new designer, gotta pull off the tag
Hoppin' out the private, gotta pull off the bag
Writer: Kenneth Blume, Maxie Ryles, Nils Noehden, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
everything you need
I wanna give you everything you need from me
Everything (ayy), I wanna
Wanna make you fall in love
First thing we need is trust
Second thing I need is love
Third thing I need is you on me
Just make that decision 'cause it's all on you
Tell me what you like and whatever what you wan' do
If you wanna ride on me like a typhoon
Let me eat you like some food
Let me do what I do and I promise you love it
I promise when we go shopping, it ain't no budget
Whatever you got on the side, you just gotta cut it
If they see us outside, they gon' try to make something of it
Just to be clear, they 'bout to mistake your Richard Mille for chandelier
I don't try to implement no strife or pain here
I don't try to implement my life for gains here
'Cause I been through this shit over and over
My heart so cold, I been a loner
Every time, I tell myself, "This time, it'll be different"
But every time, these bitches gon' let me down
I don't want no shawty they can pass around
You just stay with me and I'ma be the last one
We ain't 'bout to let one apple spoil the whole batch
Yeah, I be outside, but I always know where home at
Wanna make you fall in love
First thing we need is trust
Second thing I need is love
Third thing I need is you on me
Just make that decision 'cause it's all on you
Tell me what you like and whatever what you wan' do
If you wanna ride on me like a typhoon
Let me eat you like some food
Fashion week walking, take you out to Paris
Have these bitches talking, they just be embarrassed
They just wanna be in headlines with me so they can share it
I just want you naked with that silk robe
Walkin' around the house with your heels on
Fresh out the shower, sex with new set of toes
This dick inside your belly, deep stroke, make you moan
I go hard inside your guts when I'm deprived too long
When you text me, got your body all inside my phone
I know that you a real one
One time for the real ones
I know that you a real one, one, one, one, one
Sing this shit if you a real one, one, one, one, one, one, one
Wanna make you fall in love
First thing we need is trust
Second thing I need is love
Third thing I need is you on me
Just make that decision 'cause it's all on you
Tell me what you like and whatever what you wan' do
If you wanna ride on me like a typhoon
Let me eat you like some food
I wanna give you everything you need from me
Everything
I wanna
I wanna give you everything you need from me
Everything
I wanna give you everything
Writer: Mino Drerup, Rodrick Moore, Ryan Martinez, Thomas Lumpkins, Tommy Parker
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
moved to miami
Huh
Moved to Miami and copped me a boat (boat)
Hope my fiends don't stop doin' coke (coke)
Bitch, I'm a champ, on top of the ropes (ropes)
New Louis V's every time I tote (tote)
Nine millimeter every time I tote
I do all this shit without a stylist
I got money, never went to college
I got all my cars without the mileage
I can't f*ck on these ratchet-ass bitches
She 'bout to f*ck the whole hood
I been stackin' these hundreds inside the safe
So all my niggas know I'm good
Real street nigga, keep it all in the TEC
Got the shooters on the side with bazookas in the back
Got a whole Amiri jean collection
And I ain't choosin' shit, this shit was destiny
Bitch, I cooked the water without the recipe
And the feds and the cops ain't got no heart
How they gon' take my lil' cousin upstate?
He was whippin' to give all his children a start
Playin' with that water, gotta be a shark
Swimmin' with the fishes, duckin' from the narcs
Thirteen, posted middle of the park
If you see an opp, gotta let it spark
Moved to Miami and copped me a boat (boat)
Hope my fiends don't stop doin' coke (coke)
Bitch, I'm a champ, on top of the ropes (ropes)
New Louis V's every time I tote (tote)
Nine millimeter every time I tote
I do all this shit without a stylist
I got money, never went to college
I got all my cars without the mileage
Three-five or better whenever I smoke
I see 'em doin' it, but I do the most
I'ma do for the bro 'fore I do it for a ho
All this money that's comin', I'll do it for 'em both
They ain't runnin' with me, nowhere near close
Shit be crazy what they'll do for a post
You'll go viral, but it won't be no joke
I got power and I move like a ghost
In a 'Rari doin' one-sixty, controllin' it
Big old Baby piece, them folks gotta notice me
I'm an artist, to the street, this shit poetry
Real trapper, never did nothin' fraudulent
Send them boxes coast to coast like I'm Roddy Ricch
Bro, just focus on yourself, you can buy the bitch
In Miami for a week, catchin' vibes and shit
We got baddies on the boat gettin' hot and shit
G6 make that shit come up out of me
Pink slips to the car if I'm drivin' it
No withdrawals, only deposit it
100K cash stuffed in my pockets
I'ma show these niggas how they should pop it
Forbes list, I'm tryna get on the top of it
I walk in, they start switchin' the topic up
I feel any kind of threat and I'm poppin' up
Moved to Miami and copped me a boat (boat)
Hope my fiends don't stop doin' coke (coke)
Bitch, I'm a champ, on top of the ropes (ropes)
New Louis V's every time I tote (tote)
Nine millimeter every time I tote
I do all this shit without a stylist
I got money, never went to college
I got all my cars without the mileage
Writer: Bryan Lamar Simmons, Dominique Jones, Lexx Deathstar, Lucas Maxwell Padulo, Rodrick Wayne Moore Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, The Administration MP, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
dont i
Ayy, draped my dawg in that Jesus piece
Pray to God he gon' touch a B
Charge four hundred 'cause the talk ain't cheap
I still got lil' niggas 'round that corner
I'm still gon' be up if I die today
I came through crashing like a tidal wave
I got this shit on lock, don't I?
And I got your bitch on lock, don't I?
I got the dick make her toxic, don't I?
I got the shit make 'em plot, don't I?
I was in the Chi' town with Ye makin' Donda
I gotta buy up the block, don't I?
I got a lot of shit to pop, don't I?
And she got that lil' WAP, don't she?
I know how to hit a spot, don't I?
She addicted to my expensive aroma
At the stove makin' Rice-A-Roni
I don't take your advice, you can show me
Had to put some privacy trees around the villa
'Cause I know the neighbors too nosey
Turned twenty-three, then I poured up an eight
In my soda 'cause I miss Kobe
Can't depend on you niggas, I move like I'm Jigga
I get the B's on my lonely
That internet chat, you a chatty Patty
On a golf course, but I ain't got no caddy
I like when her head screwed on straight
I make sure you gon' eat with your own plate
Niggas talkin' that tough on the long shot
I told my lil' bitch how to take care of a nigga
I like when she text, "What you on, bae?"
A lot of these niggas talk shit, but they ain't 'bout it
I ain't Lil Baby, but I get four pockets full
Roddy pulling up in the drop with the wolves
I want my bitch to have money like Oprah
You know she special, I'm picky and I chose her
Starter kit came with an outer space rover
She like to travel and travel and travel
So I flew her out and back to California
Ayy, draped my dawg in that Jesus piece
Pray to God he gon' touch a B
Charge four hundred 'cause the talk ain't cheap
I still got lil' niggas 'round that corner
I'm still gon' be up if I die today
I came through crashing like a tidal wave
I got this shit on lock, don't I?
And I got your bitch on lock, don't I?
I got the dick make her toxic, don't I?
I got the shit make 'em plot, don't I?
I was in the Chi' town with Ye makin' Donda
I gotta buy up the block, don't I?
I got a lot of shit to pop, don't I?
And she got that lil' WAP, don't she?
I know how to hit a spot, don't I?
She addicted to my expensive aroma
Gunna
Real geeker, turn your bitch to a stoner
We real P's, that's why your bitch pulled up on us (P's)
Don't f*ck with suckers, we can never condone 'em
Ain't a ho, but I came up off a corner
We ride the Rolls truck whenever I wanna
We count the rolls, I got new bigger pointers
White pretty toes walking to the young Gunna
My bitch hot and wet, she remind me of a sauna
My car Neighborhood blue, the same color Kroger
Keep icing my neck and my wrist like it's swollen
The doc' tryna get the codeine out my colon
This shit starting to sound like a hit, don't it?
F*ck all that cap, Gunna gon' say some shit
That will make you go turn up your clique, don't it?
All the time, I'm making sense, don't I?
I go viral with a fit, don't I?
I add bile to this shit, don't I?
I'm inspired by the glist' of the wrist
You'd do the same if you rich, don't lie
Sixty K for the bracelet
Spent over three million with Elliot, no lie
Every state and every city, sold out
Pick a target, I'ma hit it, don't I?
Draped my dawg in that Jesus piece
Pray to God he gon' touch a B
Charge four hundred 'cause the talk ain't cheap
I still got lil' niggas 'round that corner
I'm still gon' be up if I die today
I came through crashing like a tidal wave
I got this shit on lock, don't I?
And I got your bitch on lock, don't I?
I got the dick make her toxic, don't I?
I got the shit make 'em plot, don't I?
I was in the Chi' town with Ye makin' Donda
I gotta buy up the block, don't I?
I got a lot of shit to pop, don't I?
And she got that lil' WAP, don't she?
I know how to hit a spot, don't I?
She addicted to my expensive aroma
This shit starting to sound like a hit, don't it?
Starter kit came with an outer space Rover
Car Neighborhood blue, the same color Kroger
You know she special, I'm picky and I chose her
Writer: Eric Anthony Sandoval, Sergio Kitchens, Guiseppe Vasaturo, Ryan O'neill, Rodrick Moore Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
bibis interlude
I, I've been waiting my whole life for you, babe
Been waiting my whole life for you, babe
(So now) so now, I'ma hold you down
Hold you down, hold you down (I'll hold you down)
Writer: Bibi Bourelly, Heavy Mellow, Jasper Harris, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
more than a trend
Yeah, yeah
I can't give you more than I got left to give
I don't know if I could show you more than them
Maybe after this life, we could make more than amends
Maybe after this life, we could be more than a trend
You always gon' chase the nigga lace you down in the latest
Why you always chasin' the perfect picture you painted?
Everything come with a price, that's just how it's made
Why you always doin' the shit you do when you faded?
And I tell you 'bout your wrongs 'cause I'm never gon' fake it
But you never complacent, always find replacement
Wanna take you outside, Houstatlantavegas
Go Beverly Hills and cash out at Jason
Shawty, we ain't tryna put you in no trouble
I ain't comin' off as no cuff
I just wanna put it deep down inside your spot
Shawty, I done walked around in your brain
And I promise I can tame everything that these lame niggas cannot
I can't give you more than I got left to give
I don't know if I could show you more than them
Maybe after this life, we could make more than amends
Maybe after this life, we could be more than a trend
Writer: Cydney Dade, Ljay Currie, Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
late at night
Late at night
Kiss me in the mornin', late at night
Catch me drivin' down 405
Just me and your girl, late at night
Side to side
(Mustard on the beat ho)
Late at night
Kiss me in the mornin' or late at night
Long as you come through
I'ma make you come over and over
I'ma treat you like I'm 'posed to
You better never make no time for these niggas
'Cause when I ride I'ma ride, ride with you
I can't f*ck with nobody
I can't keep livin' like this, I can't
I tell her what it is and I tell her what it ain't
She know that I be all in her walls like I paint
Told her at times I wanna give you trust but I can't
Bitch, I really got it out the mud, climbin' up the ranks
When they see me outside I'm a high roller
I been on a global jet but nigga I fly solo
And I got the Gucci splattered all on her knick knacks
Fifty racks I'm 'bout to break her off like a KitKat
And her purse got F's like the wheels on the Bach
I just f*cked off a million but I still got a sack
Shorty know that I'm the realist, she know I be speakin' facts
She know that I'm the same nigga that was pushin' Cat
She know I got the game but I'm never gon' give it back
Every time that we f*ck, I gotta run it back
Late at night
Kiss me in the mornin' or late at night
Long as you come through
I'ma make you come over and over
I'ma treat you like I'm 'posed to
You better never make no time for these niggas
'Cause when I ride I'ma ride, ride with you
I told shorty never get too comfortable
I like to feel like the pussy untouchable
I like to feel like it's never goin' one way
I like to see your body drippin' Elliante
I say I like the way I took you on a wave
I had you screamin' my name out
Late at night
Kiss me in the mornin' or late at night
Long as you come through
I'ma make you come over and over
I'ma treat you like I'm 'posed to
You better never make no time for these niggas
'Cause when I ride I'ma ride, ride with you
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride (ride)
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride (ride)
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride (ride)
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride
Writer: Rodrick Moore
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
25 million
I got a fifty on me, but I told her I keep it a hundred
Since I was a lil' nigga, I just vowed to go get me some money
Since I made up twenty-five million on one of them days
Now these niggas bitin' my wave
I got fatigue on my body, don't ride Maserati
It's 'Rari, I'm going outer space
I remember days, weren't no misses
Hoppin' them fences, runnin' from jakes
I got bulletproofs on all the Cadillacs
A nigga slide through like I'm Obama
Might go in the Saint Laurent store, Louis Vuitton don
I'ma f*ck up some commas
I was in the back, eating jambalaya
Hop out the PJ straight in my pajamas
Ayy, we got it popping
I'm straight out the city, my nigga, but they never knew
When I was on the county line, I ain't suit up yellow, I was in them blues
What your pops make for half the year, I spend that shit on my shoes
Ayy, I go from country to country and city to city, I know how to move
I'm outside, they can't ignore me
We got the locals treating us like royalty
I done spent five thousand on some Jordans
You lil' niggas can't keep up with the score
Cashed out on a Jesus piece 'cause you know what it mean to me
Went to pull up at Sunday service in Bugattis
I call up Yeezy, I got new holy water
I can't f*ck with the bitch
I caught on to that shit, she want me to buy her
And the love get scarcer when you climbing the ladder, going higher and higher
I thank God every day 'cause He cut all the snakes and gave me my desires
All you old niggas hating, sitting back, waiting, hoping I retire
I got a fifty on me, but I told her I keep it a hundred
Since I was a lil' nigga, I just vowed to go get me some money
Since I made up twenty-five million on one of them days
Now these niggas bitin' my wave
I got fatigue on my body, don't ride Maserati
It's 'Rari, I'm going outer space
I remember days, weren't no misses
Hoppin' them fences, runnin' from jakes
I got bulletproofs on all the Cadillacs
A nigga slide through like I'm Obama
Might go in the Saint Laurent store, Louis Vuitton don
I'ma f*ck up some commas
I was in the back, eating jambalaya
Hop out the PJ straight in my pajamas
Gotta get a haircut for the PJ
I could show you how the f*ck we do this shit
You know it's all in the game like it's EA
Have her gobbling dick before the plane land
Put her mouth on mile high mode
Couldn't let the flight attendants through the doors
Had to get a towel out the bathroom
'Cause I seen the snot coming out her nose, yeah, yeah
We went to Hawaii to change the climate, yeah yeah
She had a lil' buddy to wind it, wind it, yeah yeah
She said, "Roddy, come f*ck me inside of your diamonds," yeah, yeah
Put my emerald cuts on, then I got behind it, yeah, yeah
Hopping islands just to change my environment
We plotting on 'Raris, started in Dodges, ayy
I like four hands on me when I get my massages, ayy
I call her lil' Nicki 'cause she give me ménages
I got a fifty on me, but I told her I keep it a hundred
Since I was a lil' nigga, I just vowed to go get me some money
Since I made up twenty-five million on one of them days
Now these niggas bitin' my wave
I got fatigue on my body, don't ride Maserati
It's 'Rari, I'm going outer space
I remember days, weren't no misses
Hoppin' them fences, runnin' from jakes
I got bulletproofs on all the Cadillacs
A nigga slide through like I'm Obama
Might go in the Saint Laurent store, Louis Vuitton don
I'ma f*ck up some commas
I was in the back, eating jambalaya
Hop out the PJ straight in my pajamas
Writer: Chance Youngblood, Rodrick Wayne Moore Jr
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.