Prompt / Lyrics
[Intro – slow, Rick Ross grunt] Mmm… yeah… Neon drippin’ off the po’boy sign… Dice clackin’ like 808s… Pull up, Maserati purrin’… [Tempo: 88 BPM, Rick Ross “Hustlin’” knock – heavy 808, piano loop, luxury horns] [Verse 1] 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 [Chorus – Ross ad-libs] 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!) [Verse 2] 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 [Bridge – slow it, Ross whisper] 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…” [Final Chorus – double time horns] 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! [Outro – ad-lib fade] 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’.
Tags
male, raw, relentless, and deeply personal, rap , trap, male, rap, trap, menacing, raspy, effortlessly commanding
Duration
3:37
Instrumental
No
Created
11/8/2025