DJ Stevie J
Real niggas
Rich niggas
Fly shit

I be on some fly nigga shit when I step out
Fuck what y'all talkin' about
I be on some rich nigga shit when I step out
Fuck what y'all talkin' about
Fuck what y'all talkin' about
Fuck what y'all talkin' about
Fuck what y'all talkin' about
I be on some fly, rich nigga shit, steppin' out
I be on that fly, rich nigga shit, steppin' out
Fuck what y'all talkin' about

Quarter-mill for the car, quarter-mill on the arm
Black Double-R, back the fuck off
Drophead, cut your head off, hard top, no soft
Wet pussy turn me on, money keep me hard
King shit, Versace towels, I ain't dryin' off
Marble floors, you dusty niggas couldn't walk on
Jesus walked on water, so I'mma walk on charters
Private jets, baguettes, only fuck with ballers
All this, half a mill, first week of August
I ain't even doin' shows, I'm just workin' on the album
Forty for the feature, I just payed my mama's Visa
You in the club breathin', that Ten X, you niggas Beavis
She give me butt, head get brain like a genius
I got that dope shit, the 80s chrome Alpinas
White Beamer my son gon' inherit this flow
You niggas gumball drops on the bottom of my sole


Young nigga, we Rich Gang
Came up from that rich game
Picture me rollin' down Biscayne
Black Double-R with your bitch, mane
With that top off and that drop head
Pull up on 'em, they drop dead
Niggas talkin' that bird shit
When them birds came, they was not dead
And I was out there with that work
From the 15th to the 1st
My clique mean and they merk
We'll let them clips squeeze like dirt
When it come to them dollars, nigga, why bother?
These niggas don't want no problems
'Cause I'll kill all y'all dead, put a price on your head
Get your brain, I doubt it
I be on that fly shit M-O-B that mob shit
Boy, I'm talkin' G5 shit
Fifty racks for that ride, shit
That ain't yours, that's my bitch
You clocked out and I signed in
We young niggas, we grindin'
We shinin' like diamonds


Make them pop ten bottles like, "give me ten more"
I'm in the club passin' weed to the bitches, like "hit this shit"
Your stupid ass outside talkin' 'bout "get me in!"
Should've known I was a fool, when I moved
When I pulled up in that Bentley
Told y'all I was gangster, still somethin' like a pimp
Don't say I didn't million-dollar flow
Got a lot of dough, brand new clothes
VIP for niggas like me
Wish a motherfucker would touch that rope
Rappers, hustlers, dealers, killers
Thugs, goons, beasts, guerillas
Money, cars, jewels, chinchillas
Jets, cribs, condos, villas
Say that, then
Goddamn right, bitch I've been fly since way back when
That's right, I am YMCM, Grave Street, play that, there
Burnin' up the track like a motherfuckin' matchstick,
You know that's him
Tryna shine when you come around stars like us
They do look dim
Ain't got your game tight, ain't got your swag up
Shame on them
Your legs too little and your T-Shirt big
Nigga, go to the gym
For the love of my clique, we up in this bitch
So sorry that your girl's suckin' my dick
Throwin' money in the air like I'm sick of this shit


We be on our fly shit
You see us right
Fly shit
Swag or die and we high
Haha Rich Gang
DJ Stevie J
Stunna, salute

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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