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YC music video Racks (Remix) (feat. Nelly, B.o.B, Trae Tha Truth, Yo Gotti, CyHi The Prynce, Dose & Ace Hood)
YC - Racks (Remix) (feat. Nelly, B.o.B, Trae Tha Truth, Yo Gotti, CyHi The Prynce, Dose & Ace Hood)
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YC - Racks (Remix) (feat. Nelly, B.o.B, Trae Tha Truth, Yo Gotti, CyHi The Prynce, Dose & Ace Hood) lyrics

[YC]
YC!
(What you got?) Racks on racks on racks
(He got) Racks on racks on racks
(We got) Racks on racks on racks
(Leggo)
(Hey) We got racks on racks on racks
(She got) Racks on racks on racks
(They got) Racks on racks on racks

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign goin’ so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when your money is long
Real street niggas, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, rose, Patron
Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song

We 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

Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks
Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back

[YC]
Still fresh, yeah, and in my Trues
Iced out, okay, cool
Trapped up, know I keep that tool
That racks on racks so ma’fuckin’ fool
All around the globe, bein’ on TV
Everywhere you look, you see YC
Hatin’-ass niggas just wishin’ they were me
YC, YC, YC
Way too big for my ma’fuckin’ jeans
I’m so fly I don’t even got wings
Eyes real low, just blame it on the green
Girl cut up, got lean on lean
That shoebox shit, over with
She put it on the rack, won’t notice it
My bank ‘count, commas all over it
Racks on racks on racks

[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 niggas 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 wit’ them boys in the middle of the map
St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-town, Nap
Down to 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
Don’t lease or your mama phone talkin’ ’bout “Yo’ 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 gon’ fly

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign goin’ so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when your money is long
Real street niggas, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, rose, Patron
Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song

We 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

Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks
Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back

[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 flyin’ 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

[Trae The Truth]
I’m in the club, tryna show ‘em how to stunt (Stunt)
Tryna pick up what I’m throw, it prolly take about a month (Month)
The club underwater, have ‘em runnin’ out the front
While I’m somewhere in the back, gettin’ blowed like a blunt (Blunt)
No need to trip, you can tell ‘em that I’m cool as hell (Cool as hell)
‘Cause it’s the case I know the pack of pumas well (Pumas well)
I’m a blood motherfucker, that dude’ll tell (Dude’ll tell)
Got 47 ‘neath the old-school as well (School as well)
I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop (Cops)
Couple of foreign cars that I ride no top (Tops)
Couple of whi-whips that I ride like yachts (Yachts)
A couple of haters lookin’, I’m knowin’ them niggas hot (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 nigga that I am

[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 niggas know I’m wrong
Said 50 for a song, and they won’t leave me ‘lone
Gotta front me a brick, that ain’t nothin’ to you
Just ran through a ticket, there ain’t nothin’ to do
Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth
Mr. Cocaine Music, 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 goin’ so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when your money is long
Real street niggas, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, rose, Patron
Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song

We 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

Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks
Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back

[CyHi Da Prynce]
I make big plays, I got big chips
Blue money like six Crips
Switch gears like stick shifts
Fresh as hell, no Big Kipp
We buy cars, y’all flip whips
Catch us smokin’ that quick 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
Baby blood with them bricks, pimp
Get off a key like I can’t sing
Got the seven on me like big jersey
Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty
I’m the best, hands down
They nicknamed me 6:30

[Dose]
Got Activist in my Sprite, Benjamins in my Robins
Frank Muller wit’ flooded ice, but I still got my brightness
In the fast lane, gettin’ slow brain in a 2012 Maserati
I’m kickin’, pimpin’, like Liu Kang, my coupe smokin’ like Friday
You ain’t talkin’ nothin’, all in Flight Corps 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

[Ace Hood]
Okay, I’m back off into this bitch (This bitch!)
Wit’ a cup, and it’s full of that liq’ (Hot!)
Got racks, ain’t talkin’ tits (Ew-way!)
Big stacks, no Lego bricks (Woo!)
Hit a trick and a fiendin’ nigga got it
I keep that hottie, just look at her body (Hey!)
Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds
Sorry, that’s just part of my hobby (Swoop!)
And I hear ‘em feelin’ my Florida swagger, so dope, shit, I sold y’all copies
That ice be onto my neck and wrist, now anybody wanna play some hockey
I’m that nigga in fact (In fact), paper tall as Shaq (Oh, boy!)
Blood, Sweat, and Tears, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack
Soon

[Chorus: YC]
Got campaign goin’ so strong
Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
Spendin’ money when your money is long
Real street niggas, ain’t no clone
We at the top where we belong
Drink lean, rose, Patron
Smokin’ on a thousand dollars worth strong
When the club ’bout to hear this song

We 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

Got racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks (Racks)
Racks on racks on racks
Nigga, I ain’t even tryna hold back

YC!

Racks on racks on racks (x6)