Street Casino

Mmm… yeah…

Neon drippin’ off the po’boy sign…

Dice clackin’ like 808s…

Pull up, Maserati purrin’…

Neon lights off a busted po’boy joint, plug whisper “yo, the load just land”

Exotic bitches countin’ cash by the flame of a burner phone, I’m him, no cap, I’m the man

Ghetto gold glint off my switch, bad bitch in the passenger, ass sittin’ on that royal flush

Smoke curl up like incense, lit like the trap on a Friday—saints in Saint Laurent, pour one if you prayin’

Dice roll on asphalt, snake eyes wink back, hustlers whisper “seven, come on seven” like they talkin’ to gumbo god in black

Street race kick up smoke, red light mean go if the narcs ain’t close—tires scream like slot reels spinnin’, red lines glow instead of neon

Every drift a blackjack hit (ay!), every pass a royal flush (ay!)

On these streets the house always lose, we stackin’ plugs, we stackin’ blues

Laissez les bon temps rouler when that load get loose

Exotic bitches wet, they drown in the news (Mmm!)

Switch gears—bad bitch switch seats, Maserati growl louder than the trap

She the banker, I’m the plug, she the reason you lose your stack

One smile from her, you hittin’ sixteen, one touch and you goin’ all-in

She roll up stolen Lambo, paint job melted neon, hair down back of her knees, eyes say “fold or fuck me”—either way you payin’

Ain’t no side hoes, just queens with credit scores in the negative but vibe worth millions

When she walk by even the dice slow down—cops two blocks back, heartbeat like jackpot drop

Queen of spades on the dash—she my rizz queen, she the top

Boy throw a deuce on the sidewalk, land on the crack where the work get flip—roulette in the gutter, nobody forgive

Corner store hum zydeco, neon drippin’ down the hood like hot sauce

Every lap I take the lead, every deal I hit the boss

Mama say don’t gamble your soul for them paper stacks…

But these dice made of bone, they talk back:

“Throw me, cher, throw me till your pockets crack…”

Every drift a blackjack hit—HEY!

Every pass a royal flush—AY!

On these streets the house always lose, we stackin’ chips, we stackin’ blues

Laissez les bon temps rouler when that load get loose

Exotic bitches wet, they drown in the news—PULL UP!

Maserati purr… dice clack…

I’m him… no cap…

Neon never sleep…Verse 3:

Pull up in the Maserati, paint wet like bayou rain—

bad bitch in the trunk countin’ load, she don’t speak no name.

I’m him on the block, rizz sharper than a switchblade flick,

plug hit my line, “Ten bricks, move quick, don’t slip.”

Exotic on my lap, thighs thick like gumbo roux,

she whisper, “Daddy, double down, I’ll bank it all for you.”

Dice clack on the curb, seven-eleven in the air,

I don’t get tired, I just reload, stack the full despair.

Cops flash lights, I ghost—tires scream like

every drift a blackjack split, every corner seals my fate.

Verse 4:

Midnight on the set, zydeco bumpin’ through the speakers,

bad bitch roll the wood, lips glossed like slot-machine seekers.

I’m him in the Lambo, trunk full of that Kevin Gates fire,

#IDGT tatted on her neck, she my only desire.

Street race for the pink slip, red light mean floor it,

exotic in the passenger, countin’ bands, never bored of it.

Plug say the load touch down, I’m there before the sun rise,

roulette in the rearview, snake eyes still in my eyes.

Mama pray I make it home, but the dice say keep grindin’,

I don’t get tired, I just level up—forever shinin’.