Racks (Remix) [Lil Wayne Version]

[Intro: YC] YC! (YC!) (Whatcha got?) Racks on racks on racks (He got) Racks on racks on racks (We got) Racks on racks on racks (Leggo) (We got) Racks on racks on racks (We got) Racks on racks on racks (We got) Racks on racks on raaacks! [Chorus: YC] Got campaign going so strong Gettin' brain when I’m talking on the phone Spending money when you're runnin' this long Real street nigga, ain't no clone We at the top where we belong Got lean, rosé, Patron Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong When the club 'bout to hear this song (Whatcha got?) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Nigga, I ain't even tryna hold back [Verse 1-1: YC] Still fresh, yeah, in my Trues Iced out, okay cool Strapped up, know I keep that tool That racks on racks so ma'fucking fool I’m about to glow, me on TV Everywhere you look, you see YC Hating-ass niggas just wishing they were me YC, YC, YC Way too big for my my ma'fucking jeans I’m so fly I don’t еven got wings Eyes real low, just blamе it on the green Girl cut up, got lean on lean That shoebox shit, over with Spend 100 racks, won’t notice it My bank account, commas all over it Racks on racks on racks [Verse 1-2: Jeezy] Young, if it’s convertible, then how is it a hardtop Bitch, I hit one button, my roof open like a hard spot Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch, I think my heart stop Every night’s a weekend, every day’s a Friday night You ain’t seen nothing yet, bitch, this just my Friday ice 87, brick fare, yeah, I’m talking thirty racks All I sold is hundos, where the fuck my twenties at [Verse 1-3: Wiz Khalifa] Racks on, racks off, see that blonde strip when my hat’s off Lookin’ at my Rollie, ’bout thirty grand what that cost Smoke like I’m in Cali, fuck takin’ flight, I blast off Niggas talkin’ tattooes, we should have a tat-off Got racks on racks on racks, naps on naps on naps Just made a mill, count another mill, so put that on top of that Way back in 2004, I told ‘em it was a wrap Now my life ain’t my life no more, I told you niggas, a wrap You claim you a dog, my nigga, I’m the vet We can’t even talk ‘less you got the check I guess that’s why all of these niggas get bent They said, fuck a young nigga, fuck a young nigga I know it’s some girls in the crowd right who wanna fuck a young nigga I roll one and roll another one bigger Niggas thinkin’ they sick, well, I’m sicker Right, I’m smoke my weed and I’m a drink my liquor Better make sure you fuck your girl right ‘fore I dick her down [Verse 1-4: Waka Flocka Flame] I got racks on top of racks, stacks on top of stacks Bands on top of bands, got me fuckin’ her and her friends Backwoods don’t do papers, that was just for my haters Clap two times if you drunk Got a bad bitch from the U.K She do everything I say Go crazy when she hear music She got Grove St. on replay Got racks you don’t understand Money long from here to Japan Know it good when she go no hands Girl, you got me in a trance [Chorus: YC] Got campaign going so strong Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone Spending money when you're runnin' this long Real street nigga, ain't no clone We at the top where we belong Got lean, rosé, Patron Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong When the club 'bout to hear this song (Whatcha got?) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Racks on racks on racks (Racks) Nigga, I ain't even tryna hold back [Verse 2-1: CyHi] Got racks on racks on racks, y’all rap so wack on wax Purple by the pound, that’s that Flacco, haaaa I make big plays, I got big chips Blue money like six Crips Switch gears like stick shifts Fresh as hell, I'm Big Gipp We buy cars, y’all flip whips Catch us smokin’ that Quik Trip Pitch piff, that’s a handspring I like to call that a quick flip Pull triggers like hamstrings Boy, I’m doin’ my damn thing Been blood with them bricks, pimp Get off a key like I can’t sing Got the seven on me like Vick jersey Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty I’m the best, hands down They nicknamed me 6:30 And we Young Dose and YC Redan Road, that’s my street Ask around on the Eastside I’m the s-h-i-t [Verse 2-2: Bun B] Bun B, I’m underground king In the candy-painted car on swang With the top on drop and the trunk on pop Boy, you can’t tell me a damn thang Fifth wheel on the back just hang Hit corners, hit licks, hit stains With the grill in the front, wood wheel in the blunts You’re on neon lights in my bank Yeah, I rep that P-A-T One hundred, yeah, that’s me If you don’t recognize, you gon’ see I’m a straight-up trill OG In a black-on-black-on-black Cadillac, like a Mack on clacks Try to jack and I will attack It’s a fact that I ain’t givin’ up my stacks like that [Verse 2-3: B.o.B] Call me Bobby Ray, but it’s not two names Flyin’ through the city, all-black, Bruce Wayne No, not bombs over Baghdad But on the track you can call me Hussein That’s why they nervous, hmmm, like I’m flying on the plane with a turban But I’m fly, y’all just turbulence, exit row, emergency (Mayday!) As a kid, I was struck by lightning, it’s no wonder I’m electrifying Fuck a brainstorm! I'll fuck around and cause a power outage And it ain’t no rivals If it was, it’d be no survivors Just gimme a hour I’ll light it up like an Eiffel Tower [Verse 2-4: Yo Gotti] Got bills on top of bills scales on top of scales I’m Mr. All White, got yell' on top of yell' Got pills all on my phone These niggas know I’m wrong Said fifty for a song, and they won’t leave me alone Gotta front me a brick, that ain’t nothin’ to you Just ran through a ticket, that ain’t nothing to do Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth Mr. Cocaine Muzik, I’m 100 proof Got white on white on white, ice on ice on ice And when I’m in the club it look like lights on lights on lights [Chorus: YC] Got campaign going so strong Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone Spending money when you're runnin' this long Real street nigga, ain't no clone We at the top where we belong Got lean, rosé, Patron Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong When the club 'bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Ain't even tryna hold back Got campaign going so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long Real street nigga, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Straight lean, rosé, Patron Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song [Verse 3-1: Wale] Racks on racks on racks, I’m tryna smash and not call back My name Wale, you so silly, wet my willie, might call you a cab Yeah, riding around with that reefer scent Riding around with Ms. Reece and them When I’m in the groove, I can freak a tune I’m smoother than alopecia skin I shows out, like dope when I put that flow down Like soap when I put my clothes on, I’m joking but I be foamed out And all she want is more bags, but all I want is more 1s I told her, bring that money back like all them racks is Nordstrom’s [Verse 3-2: Cory Gunz] The tracks on snack off raps, see stacks from back of my slacks From X to the max in the Ac, if I ain’t strapped, then the gat’s on scat Then he black on em like Tae-Bo, then he clap on ‘em like bravo Throw sacks on ‘em like y’all hoes, got racks on em like Tahoes Young Money, Cash Money so strong, keep scorin’, I’ma bring it on home Those Xans and the lean cause zones, somethin’ tan with a mean jawbone Worldwide, but I got fourth ways, one hat carry like four blades Petey Pop Off, RIP, free Lou, been lootin’ money since like fourth grade I’m the shit nowadays, so they wave, no whips, no chains, I’m a slave Let you niggas know Milita my gang, MCN if you was thinkin’ it’s a game See me with the twin, buck a shimmy with the gauge Wasn’t bustin’ Jimmy, I’d be busy gettin’ paid Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave I be worried about the chips, you be worried about the lays [Verse 3-3: Dose] Got Activist in my Sprite, Benjamins in my Robins Frank Muller wit’ flooded ice, but I still got my breitling In the fast lane, gettin’ slow brain in a 2012 Maserati I’m kickin’, pimpin’, like Liu Kang, my coupe smokin’ like Friday Puffin’ on that garlic Cigar full of Marley Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket Shout out to Sha Money, signed me in a hurry Daddy was a kingpin, a couple milli buried Nigga, you ain’t talkin’ nothin’, all in Flight Club stuntin’ These exclusive 7s, pay 400 for the Jordans No, you can’t afford ‘em, sharper than a swordsman Racks on racks, our campaign strong, and YC like my brother [Verse 3-4: Cory Mo] Catch me in the city with the trunk on crack Top dropped down, black on black Fistful of wood, Swisher full of good Check my bank account, got racks on racks Look around, fool, got a wall full of plaques Platinum and gold, you gots to love that Posted up just like a thumbtack Better hide ya ho, ’cause she bound to get snatched H-Town, Texas to ATL She got a fat ass, she prolly know me well Keep it on the low, never kiss and tell True player, Cory Mo cold as hell Shows to do, got record to sell Got a whole lotta BMI checks in the mail If ballin’ was a crime, I’d be in jail Locked up for double life like “What the hell?” [Chorus: YC] Got campaign going so strong Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone Spending money when you're runnin' this long Real street nigga, ain't no clone We at the top where we belong Got lean, rosé, Patron Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong When the club 'bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Ain't even tryna hold back Got campaign going so strong Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long Real street nigga, ain’t no clone We at the top where we belong Straight lean, rosé, Patron Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song [Verse 4-1: Nelly] Yeah, they call me Country Grammar My brother out the slammer I’m crimson color painted, you can call that Alabama I’m not from Alabama, but check out how I roll tide He might have the same whip but check out how I roll mine Y’all niggas ain’t no stars Y’all only in it for the cars The sky is your limit, mayne, and mine somewhere bout Mars I ride with them boys in the middle of the map, St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-town, Nap Down through the Dirty, back up through the trap But the money don’t stack, man money overlap Yeah, y’all better watch it, mayne, right here we lock and load Two things is for certain, mayne, and one thing is fa sho’ Got a house on hundred acres I’ve never seen my neighbors A chick in ATL and from Buckhead to Decatur Now y’all better leave me alone, got license for my chrome Police on your mama phone, talking bout your baby gone Tell the truth, I ain’t gon’ lie, I got so many rides Don’t know which one I’ma drive, fuck it, I’m just gone fly [Verse 4-2: Twista] Everybody wanna hate because I’m on Blowing head back, bottles by the zone Twista finna get up on the track And spit it the way I do simp-a-ly because I like this song When I step up out the Maserati car Gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar Then I blow, I’ma close out the par Wit’ some killers and everybody know who we are Get Money Gang stepping through the door, Chi-cago, cago, cago Anybody wanna get into it, come on And do it, for security, we gon’ make a pit a flow Might as well get it off yo’ chest While everybody got ammunition on deck I don’t see them T-Dum-Izzle as a threat Cause I got racks on racks on racks Oh, Twista, I see your future, finna shoot ya I salute you if you could get at the general in military Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats I could destroy an entire village when I kill and bury ‘Cause I manipulate your molecular structure Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes If you try to give it to me at the door I just thought I had to let you know [Verse 4-3: Big Sean] (I bet your bitch call me Big) I got single bitches tryin’, married bitches lyin’ I take ‘em to the crib and leave our future in a condom I wake up fresher than these motherfuckers as is Look inside my closet That shit look like it’s Raks Fifth Man, that’s racks on racks on racks on top of packs on top of pounds My chains is pow on pow on pow I’m off them trees, no I ain't no owl I’m at the altar sayin’ my vows, to this Benjamin Franklin pile You buy her a house, I won’t buy her a vowel You fell in love and I fell in her mouth Then called her Dickface, she call the connect You call her collect, I call to collect, no need for a pet If I throw this paper, your bitch gon’ fetch Do it, B-i-g And Detroit gonna be aight as long as we got me [Verse 4-4: Trae The Truth] I’m in the hood if you wonder where I’m at In the back of a Chevy that’s all black Racks on racks, I don’t know how to act Track and field with the birds, I’m running em like track Free throws of money, bet you can’t block King of the club, I bet you can’t top Bitch niggas hate the fact I get guap Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop I’m in the club, tryna show ‘em how to stunt Tryna pick up what I’m throwing, it prolly take em bout a month The club underwater, have em running out the front While I’m somewhere in the back, getting blowed like a blunt No need to trip, you can tell em that I’m cool as hell ‘Cause that’s the case I'm known to pack a tool as well I’m a blood motherfucker, nothing new to tell Got Vogues underneath the old-school as well I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop Couple of foreign cars that I ride, no top Couple of wet whips that I ride like yachts A couple of haters looking, I’m knowing them niggas hot And tell ‘em that I don’t give a damn Hard as a motherfucker, tell em I was HAM Call it what you want, I’ma do it for the fam Yeah, that’s the type of nigga that I am [Verse 4-5: Ace Hood] Okay, I’m back off into this bitch With a cup, and it’s full of that liq Got racks, ain’t talking tits Big stacks, no Lego bricks Hit a trick and fiending nigga got it I keep that hottie, just look at her body Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds Sorry, that’s just part of my hobby And I hear em feeling my Florida swagger So dope, shit, I sold y’all copies That ice be onto my neck and wrist Mow anybody wanna play some hockey I’m that nigga in fact, paper tall as Shaq Blood, Sweat, and Tears, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack Soon [Chorus: YC & Future] Got campaign going so strong Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone Spending money when you're runnin' this long Real street nigga, ain't no clone We at the top where we belong Got lean, rosé, Patron Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong When the club 'bout to hear this song We got racks on racks on racks Got racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Racks on racks on racks Ain't even tryna hold back [Verse 5: Lil Wayne] Ain’t nobody fuckin' with me First-degree murder, you can get your degree, motherfucker And you ain’t gotta wonder about me, Wonder Woman Tune gon' ball, money tall, Paul Bunyan Real nigga shit, pussy niggas gon' hate Pound of the kush, call that bitch "pound cake" I hit it from the back and make that bitch about-face And then I gotta split, sorry, baby, sour grapes She whine, "Baby, don't leave" I duck that bullshit, bob and weave Everybody trippin', but I ain’t never trippin' Leave your ass flatter than my new television I'm talkin' 'bout money and the power, power and the money This shit is magic: Stan Van Gundy I'ma run this shit 'til I'm the last man runnin' Mack, light that shit, then pass that to me Young Money, motherfucker, yeah, we that shit Yeah, Weezy go hard like Cialis Don't love that bitch, I fucked that ho She pop X; I smoke O’s—tic-tac-toe And I stink, 'cause I got a lot of shit on my mind They say numbers don't lie—is that a 6 or a 9? I stand in front of the clock, 'cause I'm ahead of the time Knock your pussy ass off and send your head to your mom I ain’t playin' with niggas, no, sir, not me And they can’t blindfold what my third eye see Yeah, I was locked up, but like a bird, I'm free And the coupe transform, no Tyrese Hello, goodbye, where are you, Wayne? I’m somewhere in between joy and pain And I reach for the stars, got stuck in the clouds Got high as a bitch and left my love on the ground Now, ain’t that 'bout a bitch? It ain’t never 'bout a bitch I'll take your bitch and make her everybody bitch Backed up by a bunch of G-ass niggas And I just bought your girlfriend some kneepads, nigga Ha, Eagle Street, where the real niggas hung I'ma rep that shit 'til kingdom come Yeah, $hort bring the drank, I bring the blunts Fuckin' with me, it's blood, brains or guts, argh! Fuck y'all, for real, though Sleep with the hammer under the pillow Get into the room, bend her over like her elbows Soon as I’m done, peel off like velcro Gone, baby, I'm stoned Smokin' on the strong, got a huge-ass bong Swag off the hook, you can’t use that phone Stopped at the light and put my roof back on Haha, one time for the G’s The niggas got it locked, the niggas with the keys The niggas on the block, the niggas on they P’s and Q’s Put your bitch-ass on the evenin' news Jumpin' in the game, better read the rules High as a bitch, yeah, that's me on the moon Fuck with me, die soon, not late And I'm sorry for the motherfuckin' wait—Tunechi!