Real Boston Richey - Transcript

(Section 8 just straight cooked this motherfucker up)
Uh
Uh, uh
Uh, uh

Uh, uh, ayy, Louis V to my last trip, bitch, stick to the transcript
Ho, you wasn't invited, tell me why the fuck your ass here
You would think I was bangin' OTF, only the fam' here
Oh, you got that lo' to the last nigga? Okay, go blam him
Bitch can't come back over to the penthouse, she left her lash here
Niggas late as fuck, ran up seven M's last year
Twenty niggas up, fuckin' good, she had a bad year
Them niggas be cappin', bitch, you know we got a bag here

Throw the strip club up, swing them ones like it's confetti
Fucked her with a rubber, but the lil' bitch say she pregnant
Uh, it's an all-white, but the outside look spaghetti
Fucked her all night, slow and fast like DJ Fetti
A bitch asked me for five hundred, I cut her off 'cause she petty
Bitch, I give a band and up, I give you 5K if you ready
Pimpin' ain't easy, I'm only goin', bitch, if I let it
Uh, I'm a real heater, I sling that iron, I sling machetes
Uh, my bitches organic, I cut 'em off if they use edit
Young turnt nigga, I want a bag, I don't want credit
Uh, that money gon' buy a brick, but you can't but that shit with credit
I was talkin' cash shit, but if you up, then I'ma bet it
You fuck all of her broads, shit, you broke, nigga, I said it
I'm bust up than a bitch, come check my wrist, flaw settin'
I bought a bitch a ring, but we ain't ready for no weddin'
I know these niggas snake, I can see these niggas sheddin'

Uh, uh, ayy, Louis V to my last trip, bitch, stick to the transcript
Ho, you wasn't invited, tell me why the fuck your ass here
You'd think I was bangin' OTF, only the fam' here
Oh, you got that lo' to the last nigga? Okay, go blam him
Bitch can't come back over to the penthouse, she left her lash here
Niggas late as fuck, ran up seven M's last year
Twenty niggas up, fuckin' good, she had a bad year
Them niggas be cappin', bitch, you know we got a bag here

Uh, uh, bitch, you know we got the bag here
Uh, uh, bitch, you know we got that cash
Rip off paper tag, switch the gear and then smash
We ain't pickin' faces, whoop a bitch and a nigga ass
Bruises on my hand 'cause I been trappin' glass bags
Your door swingin' hard as fuck, I got some gas bags
You lookin' for me, just post, "Prince of Bubba," with the hashtag
We don't do no rap beef, drop the lo', we spank his ass

Uh, uh, ayy, Louis V to my last trip, bitch, stick to the transcript
Ho, you wasn't invited, tell me why the fuck your ass here
You'd think I was bangin' OTF, only the fam' here
Oh, you got that lo' to the last nigga? Okay, go blam him
Bitch can't come back over to the penthouse, she left her lash here
Niggas late as fuck, ran up seven M's last year
Twenty niggas up, fuckin' good, she had a bad year
Them niggas be cappin', bitch, you know we got a bag here

Written by:
Jalen Foster

Publisher:
Lyrics © The Administration MP, Inc., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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