Young Dolph - South Memphis Rugrats (Remix) Lyrics

I say what I mean, I mean what I say
Bitch

Gone in sixty seconds, never let a bitch stress me (uh-uh)
Before the microphone, I made a milli' off the celly (yeah)
I love to see her walk away because it look like jelly (shake)
Went from zero to sixty in two seconds on Pirellis
I'm always at the jewelry store, I got a diamond fetish (ice)
Smokin' on this kale while I'm countin' up this lettuce (yeah)
Stack it to the sky, I believe that I can fly
Told the man in the mirror that you one hell of a guy
If I can do it, so can you, but shit, who the hell am I?
Who said it's lonely at the top? 'Cause that's a motherf*ckin' lie
I brought my homeboys with me, ballin' in south Memphis like Dubai
Rolls Royces back-to-back-to-back-to-back, oh my God
(God, God, God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
I mean that shit (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
Hold up, let me finish (wait)
She so fine, I put it in and tried to touch her kidneys
I'm too motherf*ckin' rich to go and eat at Denny's (what?)
But f*ck that, I'm in a Jack Pirtle's drive-thru in a Bentley (hey)
Front seat got my semi (uh)
Opps, yeah, I got plenty (for real, though)
Playin' with these M's, but I started out with pennies (yeah)
A hundo in my skinnies (yeah)
Louis XIII, shots of top-shelf Remy (yeah)
Grew up thuggin' just like Hoover Deuce, Baby Jimmy
Bitch, hey (hey)

(BANDZ)
Yeah, I grew up thuggin', I'm a South Memphis Rugrat (Rugrat)
Baguettes drippin' on my neck, these bitches love that (drip)
When I pop out, I got big, gigantic, stupid racks (big racks)
F*ck a job, I beat the block, I had to flip a pack (flip it)
Self-made nigga, I'm hustlin' (hustlin')
Can't go back to the days when I ain't have nothin'
But I won't forget 'bout the struggle (nah)
I was just stackin' up racks in the trap in my shoebox
Now I stuff that shit in a duffle (for real)
My plug keep sendin' them loads and I just keep flushin' 'em
Call him back, I need another one (another one)
Ridin' 'round town with a pocket full of Jacksons (hunchos)
I stack up them hundreds and fifties (fifties)
Keep me a Draco, it got a banana clip, and the AR came with titties
Thirty-three shots in my Glock, Scottie Pippen (yeah)
Double my cup, so you know what I'm sippin' (double up)
Really havin' this shit, nigga, no, I ain't trippin' (nah)
Paper Route the mob, nigga, I'm never flippin' (yeah, on gang)

Yeah, I ain't never flippin' (flippin')
Only thing that a young nigga flippin'
Is these motherf*ckin' packs that I'm gettin' (yeah, that I'm gettin')
And I ain't worried 'bout none of these
Lil' broke-ass niggas or these bitches (bitches)
Everything a nigga do out here in these streets, they just gon' mimic (yeah, mimic)
Seventy-five hundred for a show, lil' nigga
Gon' and book me, ain't no gimmick (yeah, no gimmick)
All my cars 6.0s, them bitches V8, yeah, they Hemis (Hemis)
Young nigga really havin' motion, I done served the whole damn Memphis (Memphis)
Make a play with white, it end up bitter or Mac Miller (Mac Miller)
Really made a killin' (a killin'), off of vacuum sealin' (sealin')
Never been in love 'cause I can't really catch no feelings (uh-uh, no feelings)
Never had no nine-to-five 'cause I love drug dealin' (uh-uh, drug dealin')
Been up in that field, lil' nigga, go and ask Lil' Willy (Lil' Willy)
Beat the block up 'til the dope all gone (yeah, yeah)
Trappin' real, real hard off of two phones (yeah, both of 'em)