I don't really got to say much
I let my pacc talk
I don't really got to talk much
That's what these racks for

I get fly for the studio
I get fly for the airport
I get fly everywhere I go oh oh oh
30 bottles up in Graystone
In the club rolling airplanes
You get money, you already know oh oh
So much kris, you would think we bought whole sale
And my crib so big, look like a hotel
When we leave here we smoking up the hotel
When we leave ain't no time to pay the whole bill
Cause we al getting money uh

I don't really got to say much
I let my pacc talk
I don't really got to talk much
That's what these racks for

We getting it ni**a

I'm a broke ni**a's nightmare, broke hoes I stir
And I walk in bank roll, long as the dank roll
It's gon be hard to hear you ni**as
Louis frame so I don't have to see you ni**as
Me and the Taylor Gang, floating on a private plane
Bad bitch give me brain, hide behind this tinted thing
Money bag, kush go long
Ni**as wonder what I be on
All about the Benjies ni**a, puffy cone
I can make a actress do back flips on mattress
I could make a sack do a backflip on Sex Ville
Get trippy with a star
It will get you far
Turned up in the club, TMZ, I stop my car

I don't really got to say much
I let my pacc talk
I don't really got to talk much
That's what these racks for

Catch me in the spot with more X but the chalk
Take off cookies, kush, kilos and mollies
Smelling like money, what an elegant flagrance
And this watch I got on is a hell of a statement
Check the clock and know the time
Girl f**k your body, I want your mind
Maybe I've given this money, making you spending this money
I brought you up many planes, then you should probly die

I don't really got to say much
I let my pacc talk
I don't really got to talk much
That's what these racks for