Rico Nasty Turn It Up Lyrics
Turn it up, never pay attention to a hatin’ ass hoe
Don’t be on shit, but I bet they share each others clothes
Bet my weed smell like piss, inhale that I exhale out my nose
I got these hoes so mad
Like they off the coke, I got them blown
I step on the stage, put on a show (Woah-woah-woah)
Speak out on my name, go toe to toe (Let’s go)
He ain’t ever met a bitch like me, I know
You know we easy breezy (Damn)
Diamonds VV (Yeah), creepy (Ooh)
Heebie-jeebies (Woah), in the jeep (Woah)
We jeepers-creepers (Huh)
Think she bad (Huh), but bitch, I’m eatin’
I just put the cash in a stash
Why you lookin’ on my page and you ain’t even wash ya ass?
I got a cheque, now I don’t know how to act (Damn)
In my new crib playin’ with my son in the grass (Woah, hoe)
Pop designer tags (Yeah), lookin’ sad (Ayy)
In the house mad (Hahaha), bitch, go and get a bag
Puff, puff, pass, make a hundred on a bag though, man
These hoes be frontin’ like they’re damn lace
Put a bitch to sleep just for pillow talking (Sleep)
Shawty ass fat, see it through the joggers (Look)
I’m the realest out, if we’re being honest (Uh-huh)
Don’t call me paranoid ’cause I’m just used to being conscious
I’ma be the one that still got it, I’m not the one that lost it
She gon’ pop a Perc like Lil Gotit and then she get to poppin’
Soon as we walk in the party, you feel the speakers knockin’
He said that I was ugly, but now he eye-lockin’
She said that she ain’t like me, now the bitch head boppin’
I’ve been on her mind all day, I got her head throbbin’
I know that they gon’ ride my wave, I keep the boat rockin’
I told my that I can’t choose, just bring me all the options
My money blue, just like a zoo, it fill up both pockets (Yeah)
You and yo’ boyfriend hella lame, ya’ll need to both stop it
And if a hoe watchin’
She see this fit cost more than her whole closet (Damn)
I just put the cash in a stash
Why you lookin’ on my page and you ain’t even wash ya ass?
I got a cheque now I don’t know how to act (Damn)
In my new crib playin’ with my son in the grass (Woah, hoe)
Pop designer tags (Yeah), lookin’ sad (Ayy)
In the house mad (Hahaha), bitch, go and get a bag
Puff, puff, pass, make a hundred on a bag though, man
These hoes be frontin’ like they’re damn lace