OFF-RAP Lyrics – Rio Da Yung Og

I’m in a million-dollar house off rent
(??)
In the gucci store, spent six racks, didn’t get a book bag
Right now, I’m high off a lot of drank, I just look mad
That n!gga ain’t got dog s*it, that’s why he look sad
Fu*k around and put a apron on in my cup, man
Oh, for the interception with the drink, I know snook mad

Some telling me to do a hook bad
But I’m still in my punch bag, you know, hook jab
Spray down their gun on my cup, man
Left in the maybach even though I had a bus pass

He went to the gym and got gay, won’t get another a*s
Heard a n!gga took your cell phone, you know that look bad
Don’t give a fu*k how much this jacket cost, I ain’t putting it back
Mike say today I missed a shot and he put it back

Trish with the quake, damn, taste like glass red
That night them n!ggas threw my cheerios half dead
I popped three 30s, drunk and ate it, took a half cent
Bro (??)
I’m a gold digger
Ten mil chunky, but the fo’ five ho*s bigger
B!tch pu*sy h*e loose, we stuck a pole in her
If y’all listen to my tape, I put my soul in her
Tomorrow I’m wearing flax, I might pop out like an old n!gga
Broke for s*x with that glock, he a dome hitter
Are you tryna talk s*it? I’m the wrong n!gga

Hey mike, come here real quick, real phone with you
Just swipe up, (??)
I just know your phone slap, you got my old number
I think like an og, but my soul younger
A thousand horses in this b!tch, can’t keep control of it
That house in the a, hey rih, how much you owe? nothing
Let’s talk about flicks, I got 24 of them
Stop worrying bout what I do and going on something

Twenty-nine hundred for the chrome jockey
Promoters on some bulls*it, let’s throw a party
(??)
Ain’t got enough to buy the hellcat, but I don’t wanna charge it
My brother’s tryna get some drink, I don’t wanna charge it
Oh bro, you want a verse? give me four thousand
Og say we already big but finna go larger
This bracelet right here was twenty-four thousand
N!gga, fu*k your og, I got my own mama
Three prime to five carat, make it look harder
I’m finna put on every chain, make them look harder
Smash the gas in the trx, I got a foot problem
Now that n!gga feast, he needs some foot powder
We ain’t got no slugs in here or a buck shatter
I know a n!gga with some money, never took shots
How the fu*k I get indicted?
I don’t even know how to cook powder

What the fu*k?
2m digital, 2m digital, 2m digital