Lyrics:
you just a rat
Tryna ride my wave
I'm big big shark you a little bitty nat
Big big big facts
They ain't ever lend no help
Tryna get rich
Just tryna
hands
Just did a stick-up, just got picked up
One dead punk, killed by the man
New York New York big city of dreams
And everything in New York
and it's glistenin' (Uh)
The bitch got mad, I dissed her (Rrr)
Shawty, you ain't nothin' to a rich nigga (nothin')
I'll put a check on a bitch nigga
rich, yeah
I'm a big pimp, yeah
I talk big shit, yeah
We got sticks bitch, yeah
We don't miss shit, yeah uh
Yeah, wrist on frostbite, wedding bands
to the rim with black model-c chicks
They all talk slick so I talk slick back
Packed blue skies that hurl hair back
My radio is high drive right by
Aint no big
are migratory?
ARTHUR: Not at all, they could be carried.
GUARD #1: What -- a swallow carrying a coconut?
ARTHUR: It could grip it by the husk!
GUARD
40K, now she act different (let's go)
And her ass different, look, my cash different
I'm gettin' money on purpose, you got it by accident (that's
and then a drop, if it's a club then she gon' hop
From club to club and dick to dick, trick bitch, hush the shit
Hit licks for big chips, get rich, retire
a couple hundo
Big mansion with a double front do'
Pretty young thang in a new condo
Pray to God, stay rich, stay humble
I got big bank casing
beats
To hell with phat beats I'd rather rock acapella
I'd rather be broke and have a whole'lotta resent
Not a rich king, a pawn, a pegan for me to pee
On The Radio
Big up to anyone who's been involved in care & community
'Cos it's the GLC back again
With another rave anthem for you to feast on, ya
The way things are going we need a quick fix, baby
I don't mind you being a rich bitch, babe
If I were a real big baddy, sugardaddy, I'd be good to you
You thought I was rich
And I am but not how you think
I live in a Tudor house
Under the freeway in Mar Vista by the beach
When you call I take my
,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen,
Right in the middle of the town.
A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below.
There
And remember we bragged on how rich we would be
To get up out this hood was like a fantasy
And now you hear my songs the radio is bangin'
Oh, I can't
hands
Just did a stick-up, just got picked up
One dead punk, killed by the man
New York New York big city of dreams
And everything in New York
war in Middle East
Like mice teased by cheese
Then squeezed by self greed
Live in the city of sins
You need Gs to stay breathe
He kills the weak legally
Uh, I thank the Lord for my mother
Too young to understand but why every summer
She ain't want me outside when it was hot, boy
Influenced by
I thank the Lord for my mother
Too young to understand but why every summer
She ain't want me outside when it was hot, boy
Influenced by
RICH P & Free World Music Limited (PRS)
By Road Elf
Written and composed by Clifford Hall - Damian Hall - Nigel Whitefield
Intro
Mi naah laugh
by all means, carry on as you are
You're gonna be the next big radio star
Play your music and have your fun
But your stupid little love songs aren't
i'm a die trying to get rich
I got steppers in the six with some big sticks
Five bloods and I’m rolling wit six crips
Patek full of water got his wrist
Once upon a time
I was rich
How you gonna tell me I wasn't living as a kid, uh
Once upon a time
I was rich
I was runnin' runnin' round
I was
no lame, shawty)
When I hop in my Porsche of course I know (Porsche)
Big ass bank rolls won't fold (woo)
Where were you when I was trappin' out
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