Artist: Street Child f/ Dout Gotcha Album: Road to Greatness Song: Neighborhood Rich Typed by: Evansback@gmail.com [Intro] Quuuuwep Jeah unh unh Street Child Dout Gotcha Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah [Chorus] My nigga I get biz I show the haters what it is My pockets fatter than a bitch I'm neighborhood rich I'm getting money like Oooooooooooo I'm Getting money like Oooooooooooo [Street Child] I'm a haters worse nightmare Ball hard no fear shit yeah Large Money I throw it in the air I rock hard grandma chair yeah I'm the flyest you ever came across Move snow santa clause I'm a handyman I'm good with the tool We tied up you still lose Certified goon shoot at high noon The money long like clown shoes I'm in the wind here and there Duffle bag I carry everywhere Stop and stare my swag tuned up Novacaine bracelet my wrist numb Money comes and goes Check the bank roll Shooters on deck kill when I say so [Chorus] [Dout Gotcha] Gotcha the king of the rocks there is none higher Kiss my ring call me sire Sticks and stones may break my bones But words will never hurt me Black mask black gloves black snub on me Bout to do some nigga dirty you heard me King kong gotcha still stepping on the city More money more problems still stepping on it with me These niggas hated on me cause I keep some paper on me Anti social stay away from the phoney All family over here fuck a stickman and homie Pal and friend need piles of dividends Stacks so high that they touching the ceiling fan Stack on the mac chop a man in half luitenent dan We getting money make a monkey hit a handstand We gurillas original cap peelers gotcha [Chorus] [Street Child] Fresh off the wagon Flyer than a phantom Chillin on the crate strapped with two ratchets So big inspector gadget wont clap it I'm in the hood I stay clean I got green im in the field of dreams I'm coming up nigga I got a head of steam I keep your girl legs open like a balance beam I get busy keep a loaded semi with me Message to the haters I need them I'm still waiting Follow if you can I chill in vacation I'm in the kitchen mixing with a designer apron My whole block eating we got the pies baking Money by the piles whips with no miles Ride by show the watch and dont smile Party hard stay strapped and dont slip Street Child and Gotcha neighborhood rich [Chorus]