Jim Jones - 60 Rackz (Remix) (Feat Lil Wayne, Cam'ron & T.W.O) Lyrics

Artist: Jim Jones (Feat Lil Wayne, Cam’ron & T.W.O)
Album: ~
Year: 2012

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[Intro – Jim Jones & (T.W.O)]
This is the V-mix
How Big said it: “when the Remi’s in the system”
Well I got a 60 clip on me
Like an AK in my pocket bitch
Get money…
(60 rackz in my pocket)
Or should I say Young Money
(60 rackz in my pocket)
Ay killa you know the rules, Dipset for life
(60 rackz in my jeans, top back when I lean)

[Chorus – T.W.O]
I’m all about that motherfuckin’ paper hoe
This one goes out to all my money making hoes
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz is my profit, top back when I lean
I pull up in that motherfuckin’ Phantom Ghost
This one goes out to all my niggas getting dough
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz is my profit, top back when I lean

[Verse 1 – Jim Jones]
60 rackz that’s no dough, matters fact that’s hoe dough
I made that when I transported, back and forth taking no doze
Rolex rose gold, my neck so cold
She seen that quarter chill
V in black, quarter mill
We don’t shop at Savereux, 60 thou for the roll
Drop top foreign flow, this is not affordable
Wrist cold, caught the flu, Cartier said quarter to
She sucked my dick, swallowed it, my watch still said quarter to
Dipset, Young Money, niggas know that money grown
Wanna talk to me? You better talk to me from that pool deck of my summer home (can’t hear you niggas)
My summer home, pool deck with like a hundred on
Who’s a threat? Got a pool net and my jewels wet like a thunder storm

[Chorus – T.W.O & (Lil Wayne)]
I’m all about that motherfuckin’ paper hoe
This one goes out to all my money making hoes
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz is my profit, top back when I lean
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans (yeah)
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans (Capo, I got you nigga)
60 rackz in my jeans, top back when I lean (yeah)

[Verse 2 – Lil Wayne]
Swear to God I go so hard, they call me Tunechi fuck ’em all
Can’t pack no guns, so I keep a knife like that fuckin’ Chucky doll
I’m at your neck like a shawl, on your ass like some drawers
I got 3 hoes with me, fuck I look like Santa Claus?
And I got bad bitches all over me, real niggas that roll with me
And we get off weight like that one bitch from Floetry
Got a pair of pants with 4 pockets, 15K in each of them
Do the math you motherfucker, I’m on my Robin Leach blood
Skating with my homeboys, talking shit, smoking weed
I oversee everything, niggas call me Overseas
Young Mula motherfucker, click-clack boo-ya motherfucker
60 rackz in my pocket, try to jack and get bodied
Young Tunechi

[Chorus – T.W.O & (Cam’ron)]
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans
60 rackz in my pocket, 60 rackz in my jeans (pocket, jeans)
60 rackz in my jeans, top back when I lean (yeah)

[Verse 3 – Cam’ron]
I got a ill gift, I’m real swift
They be like: “damn, he still rich”
When I send my men in black
Listen, none of them niggas named Will Smith
I sell coke, I deal piff
When I ride by in that black on black
Ménage à trois with two Double D’s
Come to see that’s racks on racks
Don’t ship it in, I get it there
On the ground or in the air
Then drop it off, then like LeBron in the 4th quarter
I give it there, I be me, you be you
Apologies to Groovy Lou (sorry)
Sorry brah, I ain’t fuckin’ with Mase
Yeah, yeah tell ’em: “you be cool”
Me I rep that HUD 6
I ain’t even gon’ play with ’em
Harlem Underworld for real
You can fool Wale and them
The Mac, well that’s black on black
True fact I’m crack on tracks
Play around and I’ll lay you down
60 rackz on yo’ cap nigga