Tuesday , December 19 2017
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Racks (Remix) Lyrics – Yung Chris

(feat. Young Jeezy, Wiz Khalifa, Waka Flocka Flame, Cyhi Da Prynce, Bun B, B.o.B, Yo Gotti, Wale, Cory Gunz, Dose, Cory Mo, Nelly, Twista, Big Sean, Trae The Truth, & Ace Hood)

[YC:] (YC!) What you got? Racks on racks on racks
(He got) racks on racks on racks
(We got) racks on racks on racks (Let’s go!)
Ayy! I got, racks on racks on racks
(She got) racks on racks on racks
(They got) racks on racks on racks

[YC:] Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain while I’m talking on the phone
Spend money when ya money gets long
Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, Rosé, Patron
Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song (What you got?)

We 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
Got racks on racks on racks (racks), racks on racks on racks (racks)
Racks on racks on racks (racks), nigga ain’t even tryna hold back

[YC:] Still fresh ahead of my Trues
Ice shot, OK, cool
Strapped up, know I keep that tool
That racks on racks a muh’fuckin fool
All around the globe, being on TV
Everywhere you look, you see YC
Hating ass niggaz just wishing they were me
YC, YC, YC
Way too big for my muh’fuckin jeans
I’m so fly I don’t even got wings
Eyes real low, just blame it on the green
Girl caught up, got lean on lean
That shoe box shit, over with
She put it on the rack, won’t notice it
My bank count, commas all over it
Racks on racks on raaa-aa-acks

[Young Jeezy:] Young, if it’s convertible, then how is it a hardtop?
Bitch I hit one button, my roof open like a hard spot (damn!)
Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch my life was hard knock
Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch I think my heart stop (yeah!)
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 hundreds, where the fuck my twenties at?

[Wiz Khalifa:] Uh…
Racks on, racks off, see that blonde stripper, my hat’s off
Looking at my Rollie, ’bout thirty grand what that cost
Smoke like I’m in Cali, fuck taking flight, I blast off
Niggaz talking tattoos, we should have a tat-off
Got racks on racks on racks… naps on naps on naps
Just made a mil, count another mil, 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, nigga it’s a wrap
Oh! You claim you a dog, my nig, I’m the vet
We can’t even talk ‘less you got the check
I guess that’s why all of these niggaz get bad
They said, “Fuck a young nigga! Fuck a young nigga!”
I know it’s some girls in the crowd right now who wanna fuck a young nigga – yeah!
I roll one and roll another one bigger
Niggaz thinking they sick, well, I’m sicker
I’ma smoke, my weed and I’ma drink, my liquor
Better make, sure you fuck ya girl right ‘fore I dick her, down (Flocka!)

[Waka Flocka Flame:] I got racks on top of racks (Uh!)
Stacks on top of stacks (Uh!)
Bands on top of bands (Uh!)
Got me fuckin’ her (Uh!) and her friends (Flocka!)
Bad boys don’t do papers (Flex!)
Double shot for (Flex!) my haters (Clap!)
Clap two times if you drunk
(CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP, FLOCKA!)
Got a bad bitch from the U.K. (OK!)
She do everything I say (OK!)
Go crazy when she hear music (Grove Street!)
She got “Grove St.” on replay (Flocka!)
Got racks you don’t understand (Uh-huh)
Money long from here to Japan (Uh-huh)
Do it good when she go (No hands)
Girl, you got me in a trance

[YC:] Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain while I’m talking on the phone
Spend money when ya money gets long
Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, Rosé, Patron
Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song (What you got?)

[CyHi Da Prince:] Got racks on racks on racks (racks)
Y’all rap so wack on wax (wax)
(Purple) by the pound, that’s that Flacco — ha!
I make big plays, I got big chips, blew/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 smoking that quick trip
Pitch piff, that’s a handspring, I like to call that a quick flip
Pull triggers like hamstrings, boy I’m doing my damn thing
Been blood with them bricks pimp, get (off) a (key) like I can’t sing
Got the seven on me like big jersey, riding round in this bitch dirty
I’m the best, hands down, they nicknamed me 6:30
I’m with Young Dose and YC, Redan Road, that’s my street
Ask around on the Eastside, I’m the S-H-I-T

[Bun B:] Yeah…
Bun B, I’m Underground King (King)
In the candy-painted car on swang (swang)
With the top on drop and the trunk on pop
Boy you can’t tell me a damn thang (thang)
Fifth wheel on the back just hang (hang)
Hit corners, hit licks, hit stains (stains)
With the grill in the front, (Wood Wheel) in the plush
Showing neon lights on my paint (paint)
Yeah, I rep that P-A-T (A-T)
One hundred, yeah that’s me (that’s me)
If you don’t recognize you gon’ see (gon’ see)
I’m a straight up (Trill O.G.) (O.G.)
In a black-on-black-on-black (black)
Cadillac like a mack on clacks (clacks)
Try to jack and I will attack
It’s a fact that I ain’t giving up my stacks like that!

[B.o.B:] Call me Bobby Ray, but it’s not two names
Flying through the city, all-black, Bruce Wayne (who!)
No, not (Bombs Over Baghdad)
But on the track, you can call me Hussein (Hoo-hah-hah!)
That’s why they nervous (gasp), like I’m flying on the plane with a turban (woo!)
But I’m fly, y’all just turbulence — exit row, emergency (Mayday!)
As a kid, I was struck by lightning (Pow!), it’s no wonder I’m electrifying
Ha! Fuck a brainstorm, I’ll fuck around and ’cause a power outage (BANG!)
And it ain’t no rivals, if it was, it’d be no survivors (No!)
But just gimme a hour, I’ll light it up like an Eiffel Tower

[Yo Gotti:] (I’m Yo Gotti!)
Got bills on top of bills (bills), scales on top of scales (scales)
I’m Mr. All White (White), got yell on top of yell
Got pills all on my phone, these niggas know I’m wrong
Said 50 for a song, and they won’t leave me ‘lone
Gotta front me a brick, that ain’t nothin’ to you
Just ran through a ticket, there ain’t nothin’ to do
Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth
Mr. Cocaine Music, 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

[YC:] Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain while I’m talking on the phone
Spend money when ya money gets long
Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, Rosé, Patron
Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song (What you got?)

[Wale:] Yeah, 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 Miss Reece and them
When I’m in the groove, I can freak a tune
I’m smoother than, alopecia skin — ha ha!!
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 ones
I told her bring that money back, like all them racks is Nordstrom’s – whoa!

[Cory Gunz:] The tracks on snack off raps (raps)
See stacks from back of my slacks (slacks)
From the X or the Macs in the Ac’ (br-r-r-rat)
If I ain’t strapped, then the gats on scat (on scat)
Then he black on ’em like Tae-Bo (Tae-Bo)
Then he clap on ’em like bravo (bravo)
Throw sacks on ’em like y’all hoes (y’all hoes)
Got racks on ’em like tight hoes
Young Money, Cash Money so strong (strong)
Keep scoring, I’ma bring it on home (home)
Those Xans and the lean ’cause zones (zones)
Something tan with a mean jawbone
Worldwide, but I got fourth ways (fourth ways)
One hat carry like four blades (four blades)
Petey Popoff R.I.P., free Lou
Been looting money since like fourth grade
I’m the shit nowadays, so they wave (wave)
No whips, no chains, I’m a slave (slave)
Let you niggaz know Milita my gang (gang)
MC aim if you was thinking it’s a game (game)
See me with the twin, buck a shimmy with the gauge (gauge)
Word to Bus’ and Jimmy, I’d be busy getting paid
Going for the grips every day ’til the grave
I be worried about the chips, you be worried about the (Lay’s) – bitch!

[Dose:] Got Activist in my Sprite (lean)
Benjamins in my Robins (boi!)
Frank Muller with flooded ice, but I still got my brightness
In the fast lane, getting slow brain in a 2012 Maserati
I’m kicking, pimping, like Liu Kang, my coupe smoking like Friday
Puffin on that garlic (gas)
Sick off all the Marley (boi!)
Inked up on my hands and arms, got Def Jam 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 talking nothing (nothing)
All in Flight Corps stunting (stunting)
These exclusive 7s, pay four hundred for the Jordans (Jordans)
No, you can’t afford ’em (fly daddy)
Sharper than a swordsman
Racks on racks, our campaign strong, and YC like my brother – deuces!

[Cory Mo:] Catch me in the city with the trunk on crack
Top dropped down, black on black
Fistful of wood, twisted for the 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 hoe, ’cause she bound to get snatched
H-Town, Texas to ATL
She got a fat ass, she probably know me well
Keep it on the low, never kiss and tell
True player, Cory Mo cold as hell
Shows to do, got records to sell
Got a whole lotta BMI checks in the mail
If balling was a crime, I’d be in jail
Locked up for double life like “What the hell?!”

[YC:] Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain while I’m talking on the phone
Spend money when ya money gets long
Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, Rosé, Patron
Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song (What you got?)

[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 niggaz ain’t no stars (stars), y’all only in it for the cars (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 to 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 sure
Got a house on hundred acres, I’ve never seen my neighbors
A chick in ATL and from Buckhead to Decatur (Let’s go!)
Now y’all better leave me alone, got license for my chrome
Police on your mama phone talking ’bout, “Yo’ baby gone!”
Tell the truth, I ain’t gon’ lie (lie), I got so many rides (rides)
Don’t know which one I’ma drive — fuck it, I’m just gon’ fly!

[Twista:] Everybody wanna hate because I’m on (’cause I’m on)
Blowing head back, bottles by the zone (by the zone)
Twista finna get up on the track and spit it the way I do
Simp-ily because I like this song (song)
When I step up out the Maserati car
Gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar (jar)
Then I blow, I’ma close out the par’
With some killers and everybody know who we are
Get Money Gang stepping through the door (‘cago), Chicago, ‘cago, ‘cago (‘cago)
Anybody wanna get into it, c’mon and do it
Fuck security, we gon’ make ’em feel the floor (feel the floor)
Might as well get it off your chest
While everybody got ammunition on deck (on deck)
I don’t see them, see them as a, as a threat
‘Cause I got racks on 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 my military
Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats
I-I-I could destroy an entire village when I kill and bury
‘Cause I manipulate your molecular structure
Other words, fill ’em up with holes (with holes)
If you try to give it to me at the do’ (at the do’)
I just thought I had to let you know
(I bet your bitch call me Big)

[Big Sean:] Now I got single bitches trying (trying), married bitches lying (lying)
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 (Look!), that shit look like it’s Raks Fifth (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 saying 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
They called her Dickface, she call the connect (call the connect)
You call her collect, I call to collect, no need for a pet
If I throw this paper, yo bitch gon’ fetch!
(…Do it) …B-I-G
And Detroit gon’ be aight as long as we got me – I do it

[Trae Tha Truth:] I’m in the hood if you wondered where I’m at (where I’m at)
In the back of a Chevy that’s all black (all black)
Racks on racks, I don’t know how to act (act)
Track and field with the birds, I’m running ’em like track (track)
Free throws of money, bet you can’t block (block)
King of the club, I bet you can’t top (top)
Bitch niggaz hate the fact I get gwap (gwap)
Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop (Come up!)
I’m in the club, tryna show ’em how to stunt (stunt)
Tryna pick up what I throw, it probably take ’em ’bout a month (month)
The club underwater, have ’em running out the front
While I’m somewhere in the back, getting blowed like a blunt (blunt)
No need to trip, you can tell ’em that I’m cool as hell (cool as hell)
‘Cause if it’s the case, I’m known to the pack the tool as well (tool as well)
I’m a thug motherfucker, nothing new to tell (new to tell)
Got both underneath the old school as well (school as well)
I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop (cop)
Couple of foreign cars that I ride no top (top)
Couple of whi-whips that I ride like yachts (yachts)
A couple of haters looking, I’m knowing them niggaz hot (hot)
You can tell ’em that I don’t give a damn
Hard as a motherfucker, tell ’em I was H.A.M.
Call it what you want, I’ma do it for the fam
Yeah, that’s the type of nigga that I am

[Ace Hood:] OK, I’m back off into this bitch (bitch!)
With a cup, and it’s full of that liq’ (Hot!)
Got racks, ain’t talking tits (Feel that!)
Big stacks, no Lego bricks (who!)
Hit a trick and if any 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 (Swoop!)
And I hear ’em feeling my Florida swagger
So dope, should’ve sold y’all copies
That ice be onto my neck and wrist
Now anybody wanna play some hockey?! (ha!)
I’m that nigga in fact (in fact)
Paper tall as Shaq (Oh boy!)
“Blood Sweat and Tears”, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack – soon!

[YC:] Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain while I’m talking on the phone
Spend money when ya money gets long
Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, Rosé, Patron
Smoking on thousand dollar worth of strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song (What you got?)

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