Roddy Ricch's "Intro" serves as a powerful reflection on his journey from the hardships of street life to achieving significant success and wealth. 🌟 He candidly shares his experiences with loss, loyalty, and the lingering effects of his past, including friends who are still trapped in old lifestyles or facing severe legal consequences. Through vivid storytelling, Roddy explores themes of resilience and transformation while acknowledging the emotional toll his background has taken on him. Despite the challenges, he celebrates his rise to fame and affluence, emphasizing a mix of gratitude and caution shaped by his earlier life.
Intro
Lyrics
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa
From out the streets, became a millionaire
I know niggas started in the trap, and they still there
'Member I was robbin', I bought jewelry and I still wear it
Came a long way with all my niggas, and they still here
My big bro behind bars, fightin' two hundred years
I got that call, I lost my dawg, and I don't know how to feel
Gotta stay on savage time, you know it's war time
I remember I ain't used to leave the house without my .45
I ain't got no time
'Member papi had the Mackie at the stop sign
Shit was too, too real
I got my Glock, and laid 'em down, nigga, you knew the deal
That's why I moved to the Hills, and I'm new to it
'Cause I ain't sure when my dawg had to make the news reel
Got Promethazine in my eyes, I'm cryin' purple tears
The streets left me cold-hearted, they hurt me still
Uh, that's why I'm on tour, that's why my house a resort
That's why I got the four by four
I remember when I was low, tryna trap in front of the store
Hop fences on the police, from handcuffs to Rollies
These hoes didn't know a nigga, now she claim she know me
I been countin' up the bag, yeah, yeah
I get the low on the bag, I'm fuckin' up yens
Go get the birdie, birdie, nigga, I need some hens
Thirty before thirty, I been settin' trends
Hop on the Forbes, I hop on the Forbes, I hop on the Forbes
I been countin' millions every time I board
Spend your whole budget in the designer store
Walk inside my closet, it's designer galore
Bad bitch give me ya-ya in an Aventador
Bad bitch give me neck
Flooded my wrist, it's wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet, wet
I'm 'bout to pack up the whole house, put it inside the suitcase
Put my dick inside her mouth like it's Crest toothpaste
Yeah, she gave me head, like a toupée, huh
Got twenty hoes, they all my roommates, huh
Ten in the bed, ten in the pool bed, huh
I need some bread, been trappin' for two days
If he rockin' with the opps, we gotta wet the block
Got my Glock in the Dior, but I got on Gucci socks
Drip too hard, you can't ride this wave
Put my baby mama and my mom in a Bentayga
Writer(s): Eduardo Burgess, Jacob Canady, Jonathan Delarosa, Rodrick Moore
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, CLARKJAY PRODUCTIONS, INC., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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