Tyga — Rack City lyrics

Rack, Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack, Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack, Rack, Rack City, b***h.
Mustard on the beat.

Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack City, b***h
Ten, ten, ten twenties on yo titties, b***h.
100 deep, V. I. P
No guest list.
T-T Raww, you don't know who you fu***n' wit.
Got my other b***h
Fu***n' wit my other b***h.
Fu***n' all night
N***a we ain't celibate.
N***a say I'm too dope
I ain't sellin' it.
Bar fresher than a mutherfuckin' peppermint.
G-gold letterman
Last king killin' s**t.
Y-Young Money, Young Money
Yeah, we gettin' rich.
Got yo grandma on my d**k
Haha, girl you know what it is.

Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack City, b***h
Ten, ten, ten twenties and them fifties, b***h.

I'm a mutherfuckin' star (star)
Look at the paint on the car (car)
Too much rim make the ride too hard
Tell that b***h hop out,
Walk the boulevard.

I need my money pronto
Get it in the mornin' like Alonzo, Rondo.
Green got cheese like a nacho.
If you ain't got no a**, b***h wear poncho.
Head honcho, got my seat back.
N****s starin' at me, don't get bapped.
Got my shirt off, the club too packed.
It's too turnt, goin' up like gas.
Godddamn pull out my rags
Mike, Mike Jackson, n***a, yeah I'm bad.
Rat-tat-tat-tat tatted up in my back
All the hoes love me
You know what it is.

Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack City, b***h
Ten, ten, ten twenties and them fifties, b***h.

Throwin' hundreds, hundreds
Hundreds, hundreds
Throwin' hundreds, hundreds
Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack City, b***h
Hundreds, hundreds
Throwin' hundreds, hundreds
Hundreds, hundreds
Rack City, b***h
Rack, Rack City, b***h.
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsty.com/tyga-rack-city-lyrics.html ]