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Track: Intro
Artist: Roddy Ricch
Album: Please Excuse Me for Being Antisocial

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Name: Roddy Ricch
Spotify Genres: melodic rap
Followers: 11,753,542
Popularity:

78/100

Biography

Rodrick Wayne Moore, Jr. born October 22, 1998 in Compton, California, is an American rapper, singer, and songwriter. He spent some time living in Atlanta, Georgia in his youth.

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Release: Roddy Ricch - Please Excuse Me For Being Antisocial
Year: 2020
Genres: Hip Hop
Styles: Trap

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LYRICS

Whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa
From out the streets, became a millionaire
I know niggas started in the trap, and they still there
'Member I was robbin', I bought jewelry and I still wear it
Came a long way with all my niggas, and they still here
My big bro behind bars, for like two hundred years
I got that call, I lost my dawg, and I don't know how to feel
Gotta stay on savage time, you know it's war time
I remember I ain't used to leave the house without my .45
I ain't got no time
'Member Papi had the Mackie at the stop sign
Shit was too, too real
I got my Glock, and laid 'em down, nigga, you knew the deal
That's why I moved to the Hills, and I'm new to it
'Cause I ain't sure when my dawg had to make the news reel
Got promethazine in my eyes, I'm cryin' purple tears
The streets left me cold-hearted, they hurt me still
Uh, and that's why I'm on tour, that's why my house a resort
That's why I got the four by four
I remember when I was low, tryna trap in front of the store
Hop fences on the police, from handcuffs to Rollies
These hoes didn't know a nigga, now she claim she know me
I been counting' up the bag, yeah, yeah
I get the low on the bag, I'm fuckin' up yams
I go get the birdie, birdie, nigga, I need some hens
Thirty before thirty, I been settin' trends
Hop on the Forbes, I hop on the Forbes, I hop on the Forbes
I been countin' millions every time I board
Spend your whole budget in the designer store
Walk inside my closet, it's designer galore
Bad bitch give me ya-ya in an Aventador
Bad bitch give me ne-e-e-e-e-e-e-eck
Flooded my wrist, it's wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet
I'm boutta pack up the whole house, put it inside this suitcase
Put my dick inside her mouth like it's Crest toothpaste
Yeah, she gave me head, like a toupée, huh
Got twenty hoes, they all my roommates, huh
Ten in the bed, ten in the pool bed
I need some bread, been trappin' for two days
If he rockin' with the opps, we gotta wet the block
Got my Glock in the Dior, but I got on Gucci socks
Drip too hard, you can't ride this wave
Put my baby mama and my mom in a Bentayga