Lunch (Freestyle)

[Verse 1: Rich The Kid]

Riching you trying to maintain

Hundred benz and balmains

I got a new rollie it's plain

You cooking

I’m fucking your man

They say that I talk about change

Bitch you stop flexing with ranges

Her Rory ain’t driving no range

I bet you shit ain’t gonna change

[Verse 2: Rich The Kid]

Rich The Kid and Guwop

Ground round I got four Glock

Kevin working the safe spot

I’ve been gone cause the block hot

Trappin, ain’t whippin no word

Your riches ain’t bought me a verse

Yow bitch I might lift up your skirt

I’m fucking her making her squirt

Who trippin my phone ringing

She got the dough

I’m dropping her home

I’m fucking that bitch

I won’t pick up the phone (No)

I got the word to fix you

I never grow up as a freestyler

I never grow up as a freestyler

I guess the rest is just history

[Verse 3: Gucci Mane]

It’s more than one way to skin a cat

My crew say it’s a new day

My top missing like a toupee

I’m a superstar like Lupe

I’m war down while sushi

Be Gucci, my movie

My diamonds coated

And a smoothie

Imma spin five like a ozzy

Dont pity me

They sick of me

These pussy nigga tricking me

If getting money is a crime

Then I’m guilty cause I’m filthy

I’m balling like I’m an athlete

No jump shots

No track meets

My money longer than Shaqs feet

Gucci Mane the O Trap king

Get hats down

I’m socker king

I fly down, a private plane

Dope price keep going up and down

Like the stock exchange

Pound of this and a pound of that

And a brick a this and a little a that

I show a lame how to make a change

They ain’t never change

There’s project change

[Verse 4: Smurf]

Imma wait like fat people jogging

But a house on the hill

When I look you

Imma wonder why I never see no black people walking

West side daddy

Big yellow braces

Spinning with a weight

News spin on his face lift

Hit me a liquor

Spit out the fakers

Took all my crews on vacation

Money, money that’s all I think about

BSM that’s all I’m screaming out

Ten seventeen, ain’t nothing else to think about

Mack 11 in my car

Make a nigga pull it out

Big ole pimps off

Big ole ring on

Big magazines at the Coronarita

Just layed back

Me and my amigos

Give me twelve for a four pound a weed though

How your mamma cry like Dope Boy mother

Lay on your couch

Flee like Dope Boy nigga

I’m so L A

Left the lawyer for you

Yall go fuck around

And make me gotta pay my lawyer

Long trench coat

Looking like big Tracy

30 inch long horn Chevy Tracy

So L A gotta keep my Stacy

You fucking with a big dog

You might catch rabies