Correction Lyrics What Up RJ by Rio Da Yung OG

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Lyrics

(Ooh, RJ)
(Enrgy made this one)
What up, RJ?
Enrgy, Ghetto Boyz sh*t (B*t*h)
What up, Mike?
Let's show these n***as how we do it
(RJ always trippin', man, RJ always trippin', man)
RJ always trippin'

Hey, what up, RJ?
Unc' mixed the soft with the hard and made a parfait
Sippin' on some red while gettin' head by the fireplace
My lil' n***a ran off with an egg, we in a car chase
Militant with this AR pistol, I'll drop a fly
Me and Rio drunk two pints of red, feel like I'm 'bout to die
You n***as drinkin' carbonated lean, that sh*t oxidized
I picked a pint of Act' over my b*t*h, that's a compromise

Withdrawin' on drank and OxyContin, I don't feel alive
My b*t*h gon' call my phone in a minute, I think I'm 'bout to lie
N***a said I can't f**k his b*t*h, I think I'm 'bout to try
I just spilled a deuce of Wock', I think I'm 'bout to cry
Almost asked Mike is he strapped? That's a dumb question
She asked me was I strapped after I nutted? That's a dumb question
Preferably, I hope all y'all die with y'all bum a**es
But don't mind what I just said, that's just a suggestion
White buffs with the pointers in 'em cost me seven racks
Cuz dropped two grams in the pot and brought eleven back
I was told f**kin' off them Percs burn belly fat
I need two pair of Air Force 1's, I'm bringin' Nelly back
Psych, I need all the J's
A n***a pa**ed me a blunt of glue and he caught the fade
How the f**k we make twenty-five racks and we off today?
My doctor pulled up on me unexpected and brought some drank

I'm tired of drivin' foreign sh*t, I might walk today
B*t*h, I ain't had no codeine, I can't talk today
Yesterday, we played a condo, we in the loft today
Thirty racks on me, I sold a half a brick of soft today
Me, Mike, and Louie need to be on the wall of fame
B told on C, you need to be on the wall of shame
I'll politely shoot you in your head twice and walk away
Can't no n***a in Flint f**k with me if we talking pape'

Sandpaper grip on my Glock, walk you down with ease
Free my n***a C, real hustler, he was housin' fiends
I couldn't even say my ABCs and could pronounce lean
Eleven thousand blues on the floor, I gotta count these
Damn, now that's some stupid sh*t
The Hellcat is basic, boy, you gotta drop coupe the sh*t
Knock a n***a out, then slice his neck with a crucifix
Takin' pictures f**kin' on your b*t*h, I got proof of it
Why you think Baby Ghost quick to shoot? I taught him that
The rap scene died in 810, I brought it back
Them Perc-30s tried to beat my a**, I fought 'em back
B*t*h, I got a hundred racks on me, stop talkin' back
Take a b*t*h on vacation to Cali, buy her all the bags
She ain't let me f**k, took them b*t*hes back, now she walkin' back
B*t*h called me ninety-nine times, I ain't call her back
I think I fell in love with a rat, let me fall back

Second hardest of the Ghetto Boyz, n***a, free P
A n***a try to come to Flint and rap, he gotta see me
The tips of my bullets same color as some kiwi
Been sh*ttin' for two years straight, it's time for a three-peat
Backwood filled with exotic, this one to the face
Runnin' out of room for my kicks, I need a bigger place
I upped thirty racks on my b*t*h, she ain't have sh*t to say
Cuttin' dope in my mama kitchen, gotta ditch the plate

This a regular Sprite, drop a deuce of Act', now it's exotic
Beat a b*t*h a**, then f**k her raw, I'm mister toxic
I got some sh*t in my pocket cover seven years of college
Told my young b*t*h I don't eat pu**y I'm on a diet
Pa**in' Percs out, I got the whole gang high, I'm the pilot
B*t*h, you can't drive the boat, but you can ride it
Nine 30s in my system, I think I'm dyin'
If you find a Perc' stronger than a blue, I wanna try it

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