[Intro: YC]
YC! (YC!)
(Whatcha got?) Racks on racks on racks
(He got) Racks on racks on racks
(We got) Racks on racks on racks
(Leggo)
(We got) Racks on racks on racks
(We got) Racks on racks on racks
(We got)
Racks on racks on raaacks!

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign going so strong
Gettin' brain when I’m talking on the phone
Spending money when you're runnin' this long
Real street n***a, ain't no clone
We at the top where we belong
Got lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
When the club 'bout to hear this song
(Whatcha got?) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
N***a, I ain't even tryna hold back
[Verse 1-1: YC]
Still fresh, yeah, in my Trues
Iced out, okay cool
Strapped up, know I keep that tool
That racks on racks so ma'fucking fool
I’m about to glow, me on TV
Everywhere you look, you see YC
Hating-ass n***as just wishing they were me
YC, YC, YC
Way too big for my my ma'fucking jeans
I’m so fly I don’t еven got wings
Eyes real low, just blamе it on the green
Girl cut up, got lean on lean
That shoebox shit, over with
Spend 100 racks, won’t notice it
My bank account, commas all over it
Racks on racks on racks

[Verse 1-2: Jeezy]
Young, if it’s convertible, then how is it a hardtop
Bitch, I hit one button, my roof open like a hard spot
Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock
Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch, I think my heart stop
Every night’s a weekend, every day’s a Friday night
You ain’t seen nothing yet, bitch, this just my Friday ice
87, brick fare, yeah, I’m talking thirty racks
All I sold is hundos, where the fuck my twenties at
[Verse 1-3: Wiz Khalifa]
Racks on, racks off, see that blonde strip when my hat’s off
Lookin’ at my Rollie, ’bout thirty grand what that cost
Smoke like I’m in Cali, fuck takin’ flight, I blast off
N***as talkin’ tattooes, we should have a tat-off
Got racks on racks on racks, naps on naps on naps
Just made a mill, count another mill, so put that on top of that
Way back in 2004, I told ‘em it was a wrap
Now my life ain’t my life no more, I told you n***as, a wrap
You claim you a dog, my n***a, I’m the vet
We can’t even talk ‘less you got the check
I guess that’s why all of these n***as get bent
They said, fuck a young n***a, fuck a young n***a
I know it’s some girls in the crowd right who wanna fuck a young n***a
I roll one and roll another one bigger
N***as thinkin’ they sick, well, I’m sicker
Right, I’m smoke my weed and I’m a drink my liquor
Better make sure you fuck your girl right ‘fore I dick her down

[Verse 1-4: Waka Flocka Flame]
I got racks on top of racks, stacks on top of stacks
Bands on top of bands, got me fuckin’ her and her friends
Backwoods don’t do papers, that was just for my haters
Clap two times if you drunk
Got a bad bitch from the U.K
She do everything I say
Go crazy when she hear music
She got Grove St. on replay
Got racks you don’t understand
Money long from here to Japan
Know it good when she go no hands
Girl, you got me in a trance
[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
Spending money when you're runnin' this long
Real street n***a, ain't no clone
We at the top where we belong
Got lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
When the club 'bout to hear this song
(Whatcha got?) Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
N***a, I ain't even tryna hold back

[Verse 2-1: CyHi]
Got racks on racks on racks, y’all rap so wack on wax
Purple by the pound, that’s that Flacco, haaaa
I make big plays, I got big chips
Blue money like six Crips
Switch gears like stick shifts
Fresh as hell, I'm Big Gipp
We buy cars, y’all flip whips
Catch us smokin’ that Quik Trip
Pitch piff, that’s a handspring
I like to call that a quick flip
Pull triggers like hamstrings
Boy, I’m doin’ my damn thing
Been blood with them bricks, pimp
Get off a key like I can’t sing
Got the seven on me like Vick jersey
Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty
I’m the best, hands down
They nicknamed me 6:30
And we Young Dose and YC
Redan Road, that’s my street
Ask around on the Eastside
I’m the s-h-i-t

[Verse 2-2: Bun B]
Bun B, I’m underground king
In the candy-painted car on swang
With the top on drop and the trunk on pop
Boy, you can’t tell me a damn thang
Fifth wheel on the back just hang
Hit corners, hit licks, hit stains
With the grill in the front, wood wheel in the blunts
You’re on neon lights in my bank
Yeah, I rep that P-A-T
One hundred, yeah, that’s me
If you don’t recognize, you gon’ see
I’m a straight-up trill OG
In a black-on-black-on-black
Cadillac, like a Mack on clacks
Try to jack and I will attack
It’s a fact that I ain’t givin’ up my stacks like that

[Verse 2-3: B.o.B]
Call me Bobby Ray, but it’s not two names
Flyin’ through the city, all-black, Bruce Wayne
No, not bombs over Baghdad
But on the track you can call me Hussein
That’s why they nervous, hmmm, like I’m flying on the plane with a turban
But I’m fly, y’all just turbulence, exit row, emergency (Mayday!)
As a kid, I was struck by lightning, it’s no wonder I’m electrifying
Fuck a brainstorm!
I'll fuck around and cause a power outage
And it ain’t no rivals
If it was, it’d be no survivors
Just gimme a hour
I’ll light it up like an Eiffel Tower

[Verse 2-4: Yo Gotti]
Got bills on top of bills scales on top of scales
I’m Mr. All White, got yell' on top of yell'
Got pills all on my phone
These n***as know I’m wrong
Said fifty for a song, and they won’t leave me alone
Gotta front me a brick, that ain’t nothin’ to you
Just ran through a ticket, that ain’t nothing to do
Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth
Mr. Cocaine Muzik, I’m 100 proof
Got white on white on white, ice on ice on ice
And when I’m in the club it look like lights on lights on lights

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
Spending money when you're runnin' this long
Real street n***a, ain't no clone
We at the top where we belong
Got lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
When the club 'bout to hear this song
We got racks on racks on racks
Got racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Ain't even tryna hold back
Got campaign going so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
Real street n***a, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Straight lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song

[Verse 3-1: Wale]
Racks on racks on racks, I’m tryna smash and not call back
My name Wale, you so silly, wet my willie, might call you a cab
Yeah, riding around with that reefer scent
Riding around with Ms. Reece and them
When I’m in the groove, I can freak a tune
I’m smoother than alopecia skin
I shows out, like dope when I put that flow down
Like soap when I put my clothes on, I’m joking but I be foamed out
And all she want is more bags, but all I want is more 1s
I told her, bring that money back like all them racks is Nordstrom’s

[Verse 3-2: Cory Gunz]
The tracks on snack off raps, see stacks from back of my slacks
From X to the max in the Ac, if I ain’t strapped, then the gat’s on scat
Then he black on em like Tae-Bo, then he clap on ‘em like bravo
Throw sacks on ‘em like y’all hoes, got racks on em like Tahoes
Young Money, Cash Money so strong, keep scorin’, I’ma bring it on home
Those Xans and the lean cause zones, somethin’ tan with a mean jawbone
Worldwide, but I got fourth ways, one hat carry like four blades
Petey Pop Off, RIP, free Lou, been lootin’ money since like fourth grade
I’m the shit nowadays, so they wave, no whips, no chains, I’m a slave
Let you n***as know Milita my gang, MCN if you was thinkin’ it’s a game
See me with the twin, buck a shimmy with the gauge
Wasn’t bustin’ Jimmy, I’d be busy gettin’ paid
Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave
I be worried about the chips, you be worried about the lays

[Verse 3-3: Dose]
Got Activist in my Sprite, Benjamins in my Robins
Frank Muller wit’ flooded ice, but I still got my breitling
In the fast lane, gettin’ slow brain in a 2012 Maserati
I’m kickin’, pimpin’, like Liu Kang, my coupe smokin’ like Friday
Puffin’ on that garlic
Cigar full of Marley
Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket
Shout out to Sha Money, signed me in a hurry
Daddy was a kingpin, a couple milli buried
N***a, you ain’t talkin’ nothin’, all in Flight Club stuntin’
These exclusive 7s, pay 400 for the Jordans
No, you can’t afford ‘em, sharper than a swordsman
Racks on racks, our campaign strong, and YC like my brother

[Verse 3-4: Cory Mo]
Catch me in the city with the trunk on crack
Top dropped down, black on black
Fistful of wood, Swisher full of good
Check my bank account, got racks on racks
Look around, fool, got a wall full of plaques
Platinum and gold, you gots to love that
Posted up just like a thumbtack
Better hide ya ho, ’cause she bound to get snatched
H-Town, Texas to ATL
She got a fat ass, she prolly know me well
Keep it on the low, never kiss and tell
True player, Cory Mo cold as hell
Shows to do, got record to sell
Got a whole lotta BMI checks in the mail
If ballin’ was a crime, I’d be in jail
Locked up for double life like “What the hell?”

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
Spending money when you're runnin' this long
Real street n***a, ain't no clone
We at the top where we belong
Got lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
When the club 'bout to hear this song
We got racks on racks on racks
Got racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Ain't even tryna hold back
Got campaign going so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
Real street n***a, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Straight lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song

[Verse 4-1: Nelly]
Yeah, they call me Country Grammar
My brother out the slammer
I’m crimson color painted, you can call that Alabama
I’m not from Alabama, but check out how I roll tide
He might have the same whip but check out how I roll mine
Y’all n***as ain’t no stars
Y’all only in it for the cars
The sky is your limit, mayne, and mine somewhere bout Mars
I ride with them boys in the middle of the map, St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-town, Nap
Down through the Dirty, back up through the trap
But the money don’t stack, man money overlap
Yeah, y’all better watch it, mayne, right here we lock and load
Two things is for certain, mayne, and one thing is fa sho’
Got a house on hundred acres
I’ve never seen my neighbors
A chick in ATL and from Buckhead to Decatur
Now y’all better leave me alone, got license for my chrome
Police on your mama phone, talking bout your baby gone
Tell the truth, I ain’t gon’ lie, I got so many rides
Don’t know which one I’ma drive, fuck it, I’m just gone fly

[Verse 4-2: Twista]
Everybody wanna hate because I’m on
Blowing head back, bottles by the zone
Twista finna get up on the track
And spit it the way I do simp-a-ly because I like this song
When I step up out the Maserati car
Gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar
Then I blow, I’ma close out the par
Wit’ some killers and everybody know who we are
Get Money Gang stepping through the door, Chi-cago, cago, cago
Anybody wanna get into it, come on
And do it, for security, we gon’ make a pit a flow
Might as well get it off yo’ chest
While everybody got ammunition on deck
I don’t see them T-Dum-Izzle as a threat
Cause I got racks on racks on racks
Oh, Twista, I see your future, finna shoot ya
I salute you if you could get at the general in military
Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats
I could destroy an entire village when I kill and bury
‘Cause I manipulate your molecular structure
Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes
If you try to give it to me at the door
I just thought I had to let you know

[Verse 4-3: Big Sean]
(I bet your bitch call me Big)
I got single bitches tryin’, married bitches lyin’
I take ‘em to the crib and leave our future in a condom
I wake up fresher than these motherfuckers as is
Look inside my closet
That shit look like it’s Raks Fifth
Man, that’s racks on racks on racks on top of packs on top of pounds
My chains is pow on pow on pow
I’m off them trees, no I ain't no owl
I’m at the altar sayin’ my vows, to this Benjamin Franklin pile
You buy her a house, I won’t buy her a vowel
You fell in love and I fell in her mouth
Then called her Dickface, she call the connect
You call her collect, I call to collect, no need for a pet
If I throw this paper, your bitch gon’ fetch
Do it, B-i-g
And Detroit gonna be aight as long as we got me

[Verse 4-4: Trae The Truth]
I’m in the hood if you wonder where I’m at
In the back of a Chevy that’s all black
Racks on racks, I don’t know how to act
Track and field with the birds, I’m running em like track
Free throws of money, bet you can’t block
King of the club, I bet you can’t top
Bitch n***as hate the fact I get guap
Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop
I’m in the club, tryna show ‘em how to stunt
Tryna pick up what I’m throwing, it prolly take em bout a month
The club underwater, have em running out the front
While I’m somewhere in the back, getting blowed like a blunt
No need to trip, you can tell em that I’m cool as hell
‘Cause that’s the case I'm known to pack a tool as well
I’m a blood motherfucker, nothing new to tell
Got Vogues underneath the old-school as well
I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop
Couple of foreign cars that I ride, no top
Couple of wet whips that I ride like yachts
A couple of haters looking, I’m knowing them n***as hot
And tell ‘em that I don’t give a damn
Hard as a motherfucker, tell em I was HAM
Call it what you want, I’ma do it for the fam
Yeah, that’s the type of n***a that I am

[Verse 4-5: Ace Hood]
Okay, I’m back off into this bitch
With a cup, and it’s full of that liq
Got racks, ain’t talking tits
Big stacks, no Lego bricks
Hit a trick and fiending n***a got it
I keep that hottie, just look at her body
Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds
Sorry, that’s just part of my hobby
And I hear em feeling my Florida swagger
So dope, shit, I sold y’all copies
That ice be onto my neck and wrist
Mow anybody wanna play some hockey
I’m that n***a in fact, paper tall as Shaq
Blood, Sweat, and Tears, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack
Soon

[Chorus: YC & Future]
Got campaign going so strong
Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
Spending money when you're runnin' this long
Real street n***a, ain't no clone
We at the top where we belong
Got lean, rosé, Patron
Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
When the club 'bout to hear this song
We got racks on racks on racks
Got racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Racks on racks on racks
Ain't even tryna hold back

[Verse 5: Lil Wayne]
Ain’t nobody fuckin' with me
First-degree murder, you can get your degree, motherfucker
And you ain’t gotta wonder about me, Wonder Woman
Tune gon' ball, money tall, Paul Bunyan
Real n***a shit, pussy n***as gon' hate
Pound of the kush, call that bitch "pound cake"
I hit it from the back and make that bitch about-face
And then I gotta split, sorry, baby, sour grapes
She whine, "Baby, don't leave"
I duck that bullshit, bob and weave
Everybody trippin', but I ain’t never trippin'
Leave your ass flatter than my new television
I'm talkin' 'bout money and the power, power and the money
This shit is magic: Stan Van Gundy
I'ma run this shit 'til I'm the last man runnin'
Mack, light that shit, then pass that to me
Young Money, motherfucker, yeah, we that shit
Yeah, Weezy go hard like Cialis
Don't love that bitch, I fucked that ho
She pop X; I smoke O’s—tic-tac-toe
And I stink, 'cause I got a lot of shit on my mind
They say numbers don't lie—is that a 6 or a 9?
I stand in front of the clock, 'cause I'm ahead of the time
Knock your pussy ass off and send your head to your mom
I ain’t playin' with n***as, no, sir, not me
And they can’t blindfold what my third eye see
Yeah, I was locked up, but like a bird, I'm free
And the coupe transform, no Tyrese
Hello, goodbye, where are you, Wayne?
I’m somewhere in between joy and pain
And I reach for the stars, got stuck in the clouds
Got high as a bitch and left my love on the ground
Now, ain’t that 'bout a bitch? It ain’t never 'bout a bitch
I'll take your bitch and make her everybody bitch
Backed up by a bunch of G-ass n***as
And I just bought your girlfriend some kneepads, n***a
Ha, Eagle Street, where the real n***as hung
I'ma rep that shit 'til kingdom come
Yeah, $hort bring the drank, I bring the blunts
Fuckin' with me, it's blood, brains or guts, argh!
Fuck y'all, for real, though
Sleep with the hammer under the pillow
Get into the room, bend her over like her elbows
Soon as I’m done, peel off like velcro
Gone, baby, I'm stoned
Smokin' on the strong, got a huge-ass bong
Swag off the hook, you can’t use that phone
Stopped at the light and put my roof back on
Haha, one time for the G’s
The n***as got it locked, the n***as with the keys
The n***as on the block, the n***as on they P’s and Q’s
Put your bitch-ass on the evenin' news
Jumpin' in the game, better read the rules
High as a bitch, yeah, that's me on the moon
Fuck with me, die soon, not late
And I'm sorry for the motherfuckin' wait—Tunechi!