60 Rackz Remix by Jim Jones Lyrics
This is the Vmix! How big said it
When the Rémy's in the system
Well I got a 60 clip on me
Like an AK in my pocket, bitch
Get money
Or should I say young money
Ay killa you know the rules dip set for life
[Hook: Jim Jones]
I'm all about that motherfucking paper ho
This song goes out to all my money making hoes
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket, top back when I lean
I pull up in that motherfucking Phantom Ghost
This song goes out to all my niggas getting dough
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket top back when I lean
[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
60 racks thats no dough, mattes fact thats ho dough
I made that when I transported, back and forth taking Nodoze
Rolex rose gold, my neck so cold
She seen't that quarter chill, V in black, quarter mill
We don't shop at saveraux, 60 thou for the roll
Drop top foreign flow, this is not affordable
Wrist cold, caught the flu, Cartier said quarter to
She sucked my dick, swallowed it, my watch still said quarter to
Dipset, Young Money, niggas know that that money grown
Wanna talk to me, you better talk to me, from that pool deck of my summer home (Can't hear you niggas)
My summer home, pool deck with like a hundred on
Who's a threat? Got a pool net, and my jewels wet like a thunderstorm
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]
Swear to God I go so hard, they call me Tunechi fuck 'em all
Can't pack no gun, so I keep a knife like that fuckin' Chucky doll
I'm at your neck like a shawl, on your ass like some drawers
I got 3 hoes with me, fuck, I look like Santa Claus
And I got bad bitches all over me, real niggas that roll with me
And we get off weight like that one bitch from Floetry
Got a pair of pants with 4 pockets, 15K in each of 'em
Do the math you mo'fucka, I'm on my Robin Leach, blood
Skating with my homeboys, talking shit smoking weed
I oversee everything, niggas call me overseas
Young mulah mothafucka, click clack boo ya, mothafucka
60 rackz in my pocket, try to jack and get bodied
Young Tunechi
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Cam'ron]
I got an ill gift, I'm real swift, they be like, "Damn, he still rich"
When I send my men in black listen none of them niggas is will smith
I sell coke, I deal piff, when I ride by in that black on black
Ménage à trois with two double D's, come to see that's racks on racks
They ship it in, I give it to ya on the ground or in the air
They drop it off, they're like LeBron in the 4th quarter, I give it there
I be me, you be you, apologies to Groovie Lou
Sorry, brah, I ain't fuckin' with mase, yea yea tell 'em you be cool
Me I rep that Hud 6, I ain't even gon' play with 'em
Harlem Underworld for real, you can fool Wale and them
The MAC, well, that's black on black, true fact I'm crack on tracks
Play around, and I'll lay you down, 60 racks in your cap, nigga
[Hook]
When the Rémy's in the system
Well I got a 60 clip on me
Like an AK in my pocket, bitch
Get money
Or should I say young money
Ay killa you know the rules dip set for life
[Hook: Jim Jones]
I'm all about that motherfucking paper ho
This song goes out to all my money making hoes
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket, top back when I lean
I pull up in that motherfucking Phantom Ghost
This song goes out to all my niggas getting dough
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket top back when I lean
[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
60 racks thats no dough, mattes fact thats ho dough
I made that when I transported, back and forth taking Nodoze
Rolex rose gold, my neck so cold
She seen't that quarter chill, V in black, quarter mill
We don't shop at saveraux, 60 thou for the roll
Drop top foreign flow, this is not affordable
Wrist cold, caught the flu, Cartier said quarter to
She sucked my dick, swallowed it, my watch still said quarter to
Dipset, Young Money, niggas know that that money grown
Wanna talk to me, you better talk to me, from that pool deck of my summer home (Can't hear you niggas)
My summer home, pool deck with like a hundred on
Who's a threat? Got a pool net, and my jewels wet like a thunderstorm
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Lil Wayne]
Swear to God I go so hard, they call me Tunechi fuck 'em all
Can't pack no gun, so I keep a knife like that fuckin' Chucky doll
I'm at your neck like a shawl, on your ass like some drawers
I got 3 hoes with me, fuck, I look like Santa Claus
And I got bad bitches all over me, real niggas that roll with me
And we get off weight like that one bitch from Floetry
Got a pair of pants with 4 pockets, 15K in each of 'em
Do the math you mo'fucka, I'm on my Robin Leach, blood
Skating with my homeboys, talking shit smoking weed
I oversee everything, niggas call me overseas
Young mulah mothafucka, click clack boo ya, mothafucka
60 rackz in my pocket, try to jack and get bodied
Young Tunechi
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Cam'ron]
I got an ill gift, I'm real swift, they be like, "Damn, he still rich"
When I send my men in black listen none of them niggas is will smith
I sell coke, I deal piff, when I ride by in that black on black
Ménage à trois with two double D's, come to see that's racks on racks
They ship it in, I give it to ya on the ground or in the air
They drop it off, they're like LeBron in the 4th quarter, I give it there
I be me, you be you, apologies to Groovie Lou
Sorry, brah, I ain't fuckin' with mase, yea yea tell 'em you be cool
Me I rep that Hud 6, I ain't even gon' play with 'em
Harlem Underworld for real, you can fool Wale and them
The MAC, well, that's black on black, true fact I'm crack on tracks
Play around, and I'll lay you down, 60 racks in your cap, nigga
[Hook]