Video Rill de Justin Rarri 2024 Hip Hop Lyrics

Justin Rarri - Rill Lyrics

[Verse]
Yeah, wildin' on the motherfuckin' E-Way
We gon' hit the north, find the trapout
I ain't even tryna talk about it
Stop acting like you with it, you don't air out
I need some more bottles for these bitches
You peep how a young nigga finna play out
Run up your ho
He say he lit, finna boom at the store
We finna hit us some more
New Gucci
I need a baddie to suck on a nigga while I drop the top
That's that new boujie
Five bands for a Birkin, no bitch, I don't work
Do whatever I want, I got new blue cheese
They gon' do you on me, I got shooters with me
That hold a lot of weight, I need thick groupies
Hold up, bitch, don't make noise while you riding
I got the word that a nigga was plotting on
Who the fuck goofy ain't think we was sliding?
Bag your bitch on purpose
Yeah, uh, uh, uh, yeah, yeah
I ain't trippin' about no lil' bitch, I want bands
Shorty gon' fuck 'em with the FN
Countin' up all these bodies that drop in my hand
We gon' handle the opp, tell 'em bring out his mans
Bring in more bitches, uh
I got racks in my pocket, I tell you I'm ready to go, nigga
I don't think bout an opp
Swear a nigga gon' drop
Gang be ready to pop, they gon' go get you
She be easy, my bro 'bout to bag her
She beggin' my guys to go buy her some more liquor
She do not give a fuck about her nigga
Like a burner, she ready to blow nigga
Go far, said I want all the smoke
I want big war, finna get up a million vests
I don't think I could hide, then I might catch a body
Ain't tryna get booked for shooting at his neck
We gon' get it regardless, I put that on God
I got so many reasons I don't need to step
Skeeza
I remember they ain't jack my speaker
I do not mix with nobody
Rent out a Bugatti
He probably don't like me, give that boy a feature
We gon run up behind him, ain't checkin' ya pockets
I just need to press him posting like a female
At the end of the day, you ain't stacking no bread
Why the fuck am I beefing with a little broke boy?
I be choking ya ho like a ho boy
Got a whole lotta racks, it get dope, boy

[Chorus]
All that talk, finna dump at his face, new killer
Fuck what they talking 'bout
I got hundred bitches, I ain't macking with no niggas
Forty bands up in the back on God
I ain't lacking, bitch, on my dead got big triggers
Re-up, said the bitch tryna fuck, can I meet her?
I could care less, get a bag, I don't need her
Lord knows run the bread like a meter
Face, new killer
Fuck what they talking 'bout
I got hundred bitches, I ain't macking with no niggas
Forty bands up in the back on God
I ain't lacking, bitch, on my dead got big triggers
Re-up, said the bitch tryna fuck, can I meet her?
I could care less, get a bag, I don't need her
Lord knows run the bread like a meter