conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Racks (Remix) with the following description: The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was getting us to listen to “Lose It” for 13 minutes. This remix features everyone that rapped on this song (this is just a mash-up, though it’s official), but is missing a few (Maino, Future, Soulja Boy, Lil Wayne, etc.)
  The cover art is also missing some of the rappers on this remix.
   Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro: YC & Future]
  Racks on racks on racks
  [Chorus: YC & Future]
  Got campaign going so strong
  Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
  Spending money when you're runnin' this long
  Real street nigga, ain't no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Got lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
  Well, the club 'bout to hear this song
  We got racks on racks on racks
  Got racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Ain't even tryna hold back
  Got campaign going so strong
  Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
  Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
  Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Straight lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
  We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song [Verse 1-1: YC]
  Still fresh as hell in my Trues
  Iced out, okay cool
  Strapped up, know I keep that tool
  That racks on racks so motherfucking fool
  I’m about to glow, me on TV
  Everywhere you look, you see YC
  Hating-ass niggas just wishing they were me
  YC, YC, YC
  Way too big for my my fucking jeans
  I’m so fly I don’t even got wings
  Eyes real low, just blame it on the green
  Girl cut up, got lean on lean
  That shoebox shit, over with
  Spend 100 racks, won’t notice it
  My bank account, commas all over it
  Racks on racks on racks
  [Verse 1-2: Jeezy]
  Young, if it’s convertible, then how is it a hardtop
  Bitch, I hit one button, my roof open like a hard spot
  Make me throw my diamonds up, bitch, my life was hard knock
  Had so much kush and Ciroc, bitch, I think my heart stop
  Every night’s a weekend, every day’s a Friday night
  You ain’t seen nothing yet, bitch, this just my Friday ice
  87, brick fare, yeah, I’m talking thirty racks
  All I sold is hundos, where the fuck my twenties at [Verse 1-3: Wiz Khalifa]
  Racks on, racks off, see that blonde strip when my hat’s off
  Lookin’ at my Rollie, ’bout thirty grand what that cost
  Smoke like I’m in Cali, fuck takin’ flight, I blast off
  Niggas talkin’ tattooes, we should have a tat-off
  Got racks on racks on racks, naps on naps on naps
  Just made a mill, count another mill, so put that on top of that
  Way back in 2004, I told ‘em it was a wrap
  Now my life ain’t my life no more, I told you niggas, a wrap
  You claim you a dog, my nigga, I’m the vet
  We can’t even talk ‘less you got the check
  I guess that’s why all of these niggas get bent
  They said, fuck a young nigga, fuck a young nigga
  I know it’s some girls in the crowd right who wanna fuck a young nigga
  I roll one and roll another one bigger
  Niggas thinkin’ they sick, well, I’m sicker
  Right, I’m smoke my weed and I’m a drink my liquor
  Better make sure you fuck your girl right ‘fore I dick her down
  [Verse 1-4: Waka Flocka Flame]
  I got racks on top of racks, stacks on top of stacks
  Bands on top of bands, got me fuckin’ her and her friends
  Backwoods don’t do papers, that was just for my haters
  Clap two times if you drunk
  Got a bad bitch from the UK
  She do everything I say
  Go crazy when she hear music
  She got Grove St. on replay
  Got racks you don’t understand
  Money long from here to Japan
  Know it good when she go no hands
  Girl, you got me in a trance [Chorus: YC & Future]
  Got campaign going so strong
  Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
  Spending money when you're runnin' this long
  Real street nigga, ain't no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Got lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
  Well, the club 'bout to hear this song
  We got racks on racks on racks
  Got racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Ain't even tryna hold back
  Got campaign going so strong
  Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
  Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
  Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Straight lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
  We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song
  [Verse 2-1: Cyhi]
  Got racks on racks on racks, y’all rap so wack on wax
  Purple by the pound, that’s that Flacco, haaaa
  I make big plays, I got big chips
  Blew money like six Crips
  Switch gears like stick shifts
  Fresh as hell, I'm Big Gipp
  We buy cars, y’all flip whips
  Catch us smokin’ that Quik Trip
  Pitch piff, that’s a handspring
  I like to call that a quick flip
  Pull triggers like hamstrings
  Boy, I’m doin’ my damn thing
  Been blood with them bricks, pimp
  Get off a key like I can’t sing
  Got the seven on me like Vick jersey
  Ridin’ round, and this bitch dirty
  I’m the best, hands down
  They nicknamed me 6:30
  And we Young Dose and YC
  Redan Road, that’s my street
  Ask around on the Eastside
  I’m the S, h-i-t
  [Verse 2-2: Bun B]
  Bun B, I’m underground king
  In the candy-painted car on swang
  With the top on drop and the trunk on pop
  Boy, you can’t tell me a damn thang
  Fifth wheel on the back just hang
  Hit corners, hit licks, hit stains
  With the grill in the front, wood wheel in the blunts
  You’re on neon lights in my bank
  Yeah, I rep that P-A-T
  One hundred, yeah, that’s me
  If you don’t recognize, you gon’ see
  I’m a straight-up trill OG
  In a black-on-black-on-black
  Cadillac, like a Mack on clacks
  Try to jack and I will attack
  It’s a fact that I ain’t givin’ up my stacks like that
  [Verse 2-3: B.o.B]
  Call me Bobby Ray, but it’s not two names
  Flyin’ through the city, all-black, Bruce Wayne
  No, not bombs over Baghdad
  But on the track you can call me Usain
  That’s why they nervous, hmmm, like I’m flying on the plane with a turban
  But I’m fly, y’all just turbulence, exit row, emergency (Mayday!)
  As a kid, I was struck by lightning, it’s no wonder I’m electrifying
  Fuck a brainstorm, I’ll fuck around and cause a power outage
  And it ain’t no rivals, if it was, it’d be no survivors
  Just gimme a hour, I’ll light it up like an Eiffel Tower
  [Verse 2-4: Yo Gotti]
  Got bales on top of bales, scales on top of scales
  I’m Mr. All White, got yay on top of yay
  Got pills all on my phone, these niggas know I’m wrong
  Said fifty for a song, and they won’t leave me alone
  Gotta front me a brick, that ain’t nothin’ to you
  Just ran through a ticket, that ain’t nothing to do
  Yeah, I love these streets like I love the booth
  Mr. Cocaine Muzik, I’m 100 proof
  Got white on white on white, ice on ice on ice
  And when I’m in the club it look like lights on lights on lights
  [Chorus: YC & Future]
  Got campaign going so strong
  Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
  Spending money when you're runnin' this long
  Real street nigga, ain't no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Got lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
  Well, the club 'bout to hear this song
  We got racks on racks on racks
  Got racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Ain't even tryna hold back
  Got campaign going so strong
  Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
  Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
  Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Straight lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
  We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song
  [Verse 3-1: Wale]
  Racks on racks on racks, I’m tryna smash and not call back
  My name Wale, you so silly, wet my willie, might call you a cab
  Yeah, riding around with that reefer scent
  Riding around with Ms. Reece and them
  When I’m in the groove, I can freak a tune
  I’m smoother than alopecia skin
  I shows out, like dope when I put that flow down
  Like soap when I put my clothes on, I’m joking but I be foamed out
  And all she want is more bags, but all I want is more 1s
  I told her, bring that money back like all them racks is Nordstrom’s
  [Verse 3-2: Cory Gunz]
  The tracks on snack off raps, see stacks from back of my slacks
  From X to the max in the Ac, if I ain’t strapped, then the gat’s on scat
  Then he black on em like Tae-Bo, then he clap on ‘em like bravo
  Throw sacks on ‘em like y’all hoes, got racks on em like Tahoes
  Young Money, Cash Money so strong, keep scorin’, I’ma bring it on home
  Those Xans and the lean cause zones, somethin’ tan with a mean jawbone
  Worldwide, but I got fourth ways, one hat carry like four blades
  Petey Pop Off, RIP, free Lou, been lootin’ money since like fourth grade
  I’m the shit nowadays, so they wave, no whips, no chains, I’m a slave
  Let you niggas know Milita my gang, MCN if you was thinkin’ it’s a game
  See me with the twin, buck a shimmy with the gauge
  Wasn’t bustin’ Jimmy, I’d be busy gettin’ paid
  Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave
  I be worried about the chips, you be worried about the lays
  [Verse 3-3: Dose]
  Got Actavis in my Sprite, Benjamins in my Robins
  Frank Muller wit’ flooded ice, but I still got my breitling
  In the fast lane, gettin’ slow brain in a 2012 Maserati
  I’m kickin’, pimpin’, like Liu Kang
  , 
  my coupe smokin’ like Friday
  Puffin’ on that garlic, cigar full of Marley
  Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket
  Shout out to Sha Money, signed me in a hurry
  Daddy was a kingpin, a couple milli buried
  Nigga, you ain’t talkin’ nothin’, all in Flight Club stuntin’
  These exclusive 7s, pay 400 for the Jordans
  No, you can’t afford ‘em, sharper than a swordsman
  Racks on racks, our campaign strong, and YC like my brother
  [Verse 3-4: Cory Mo]
  Catch me in the city with the trunk on crack
  Top dropped down, black on black
  Fistful of wood, Swisher full of good
  Check my bank account, got racks on racks
  Look around, fool, got a wall full of plaques
  Platinum and gold, you gots to love that
  Posted up just like a thumbtack
  Better hide ya ho, ’cause she bound to get snatched
  H-Town, Texas to ATL
  She got a fat ass, she prolly know me well
  Keep it on the low, never kiss and tell
  True player, Cory Mo cold as hell
  Shows to do, got record to sell
  Got a whole lotta BMI checks in the mail
  If ballin’ was a crime, I’d be in jail
  Locked up for double life like “What the hell?”
  [Chorus: YC & Future]
  Got campaign going so strong
  Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
  Spending money when you're runnin' this long
  Real street nigga, ain't no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Got lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
  Well, the club 'bout to hear this song
  We got racks on racks on racks
  Got racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Ain't even tryna hold back
  Got campaign going so strong
  Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
  Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
  Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Straight lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
  We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song
  [Verse 4-1: Nelly]
  Yeah, they call me Country Grammar
  My brother out the slammer
  I’m crimson color painted
  You can call that Alabama
  I’m not from Alabama
  But check out how I roll tide
  He might have the same whip
  But check out how I roll mine
  Y’all niggas ain’t no stars
  Y’all only in it for the cars
  The sky is your limit, mayne
  And mine somewhere bout Mars
  I ride with them boys in the middle of the map
  St. Louis, Detroit, Chi-town, Nap
  Down through the Dirty, back up through the trap
  But the money don’t stack, man money overlap
  Yeah, y’all better watch it, mayne, right here we lock and load
  Two things is for certain, mayne and one thing is fa sho’
  Got a house on hundred acres
  I’ve never seen my neighbors
  A chick in ATL and from Buckhead to Decatur
  Now y’all better leave me alone, got license for my chrome
  Police on your mama phone, talking bout your baby gone
  Tell the truth, I ain’t gon’ lie, I got so many rides
  Don’t know which one I’ma drive, fuck it, I’m just gone fly
  [Verse 4-2: Twista]
  Everybody wanna hate because I’m on
  Blowing head back, bottles by the zone
  Twista finna get up on the track
  And spit it the way I do simp-a-ly because I like this song
  When I step up out the Maserati car
  Gotta pull it, pull it, pull it, pull it from the jar
  Then I blow, I’ma close out the par
  Wit’ some killers and everybody know who we are
  Get Money Gang stepping through the door, Chi-cago, cago, cago
  Anybody wanna get into it, come on
  And do it, for security, we gon’ make a pit a flow
  Might as well get it off yo’ chest
  While everybody got ammunition on deck
  I don’t see them T-Dum-Izzle as a threat
  Cause I got racks on racks on racks
  Oh, Twista, I see your future, finna shoot ya
  I salute you if you could get at the general in military
  Racks and racks and tracks and stacks and gats
  I could destroy an entire village when I kill and bury
  ‘Cause I manipulate your molecular structure
  Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes
  If you try to give it to me at the door
  I just thought I had to let you know
  [Verse 4-3: Big Sean]
  (I bet your bitch call me Big)
  I got single bitches tryin’, married bitches lyin’
  I take ‘em to the crib and leave our future in a condom
  I wake up fresher than these motherfuckers as is
  Look inside my closet
  That shit look like it’s Raks Fifth
  Man, that’s racks on racks on racks on top of packs on top of pounds
  My chains is pow on pow on pow
  I’m off them trees, no I ain't no owl
  I’m at the altar sayin’ my vows, to this Benjamin Franklin pile
  You buy her a house, I won’t buy her a vowel
  You fell in love and I fell in her mouth
  Then called her Dickface, she call the connect
  You call her collect, I call to collect, no need for a pet
  If I throw this paper, your bitch gon’ fetch
  Do it, B-i-g
  And Detroit gonna be aight as long as we got me
  [Verse 4-4: Trae The Truth]
  I’m in the hood if you wonder where I’m at
  In the back of a Chevy that’s all black
  Racks on racks, I don’t know how to act
  Track and field with the birds, I’m running em like track
  Free throws of money, bet you can’t block
  King of the club, I bet you can’t top
  Bitch niggas hate the fact I get guap
  Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop
  I’m in the club, tryna show ‘em how to stunt
  Tryna pick up what I’m throwing, it prolly take em bout a month
  The club underwater, have em running out the front
  While I’m somewhere in the back, getting blowed like a blunt
  No need to trip, you can tell em that I’m cool as hell
  ‘Cause that’s the case I'm known to pack a tool as well
  I’m a blood motherfucker, nothing new to tell
  Got Vogues underneath the old-school as well
  I got lights on my wrist that’ll flash like cop
  Couple of foreign cars that I ride, no top
  Couple of wet whips that I ride like yachts
  A couple of haters looking, I’m knowing them niggas hot
  And tell ‘em that I don’t give a damn
  Hard as a motherfucker, tell em I was HAM
  Call it what you want, I’ma do it for the fam
  Yeah, that’s the type of nigga that I am
  [Verse 4-5: Ace Hood]
  Okay, I’m back off into this bitch
  With a cup, and it’s full of that liq
  Got racks, ain’t talking tits
  Big stacks, no Lego bricks
  Hit a trick and fiending nigga got it
  I keep that hottie, just look at her body
  Blew twenty bands in that King of Diamonds
  Sorry, that’s just part of my hobby
  And I hear em feeling my Florida swagger
  So dope, shit, I sold y’all copies
  That ice be onto my neck and wrist
  Mow anybody wanna play some hockey
  I’m that nigga in fact, paper tall as Shaq
  Blood, Sweat, and Tears, it’ll be on your local Walmart rack, soon
  [Chorus: YC & Future]
  Got campaign going so strong
  Getting brain when I’m talking on the phone
  Spending money when you're runnin' this long
  Real street nigga, ain't no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Got lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin' on 1000 dollars worth of strong
  Well, the club 'bout to hear this song
  We got racks on racks on racks
  Got racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Racks on racks on racks
  Ain't even tryna hold back
  Got campaign going so strong
  Gettin’ brain when I’m talkin’ on the phone
  Spendin’ money when youre' runnin this long
  Real street nigga, ain’t no clone
  We at the top where we belong
  Straight lean, rosé, Patron
  Smokin’ on 1,000 dollars of strong
  We"re in the club ’bout to hear this song