Lyrics:
fire
Purple cush by the pound
Ask my dog Webbie
This is how it goes down
From my hood to yo' hood
Man, we making money
In the club we poppin'
where i sleep, now give me my key
[Verse 8: N.O.R.E.]
New York get the blood money, dirty cash still sweet
We will blackwall street by the swapmeet with
to rock, YOU!
We're the kings of swing
And we're chosen to rule
The deans of clean inside the cool school
We're the chiefs of relief
Contained by wild
used to be now I'm not afraid, I told her "Wait till I get my money up Then I'll holla bae
Fuck that, by then I won't even give her the time of day,
I stay on my boss shii like Rick Ross shii
Gotta stack that Guap up until it a wrap
Money, older than B.I.G and Pac
I ain't going trip when I'm
dollar residence
Rick Ross, big chips, AKs, flip clips
Off set rims on a rear six-inch lips
Started on the benches, rose through the trenches
Now I'm
clean like Voss
Pockets fat, Rick Ross
I don't care what it cost
I'm making money, I'm showing it off
Your bitch ain't ever getting over me
Want me now,
fire
Purple cush by the pound
Ask my dog Webbie
This is how it goes down
From my hood to yo' hood
Man, we making money
In the club we poppin'
get shot, you gettin' picked off
Rick Ross big soft, got that AK, let that shit pop
No Kidz Bop, get shot, get popped, get robbed, get lost
Big rocks,
of my mens, I just eat good like Rick Ross
I don't need no new friends, niggas be throwing me off
Okay, let's go, hey, hey, okay, go get some money, go
Ou-we Rick Ross “Hustlin’”,
Off the head top like Muslim,
Anyone I out muscle ‘em!
Grillz in my mouth can’t muzzle them.
Hustlers, I came up with them.
go
Whether thats right I will never know(ugh but here goes nothin)
[Verse 2 - Rick Ross]
When Im alone in my room sometimes I stare at the walls
Rick Ross: Trilla
Bird-man: brrrr!
[Webbie]
The 'lil soldier wit nothin' clear to see wasn't nobody handin' him shit
Ridin' round town glamor
grind, no flip flop
When they see me they say I'm headed for the tip top
Hey, hey
I feel like Rick Ross
I ain't heavyset but I promise I'm a big boss
When
brown paper bag money
This for my strippers getting black plastic bag money
We're talking that bad money, that I.R.S can tax money you dig me
[Rick
It's my time (Rick Ross)
It's my time (Finna' lay back on this shit man)
(Dade County dope boy)
I'm not a slim thug, I'm a fat mack
I don't
background]
DJ Khaled!
When I ride, I ride for Trey-0-5
Trick Daddy! (When I ride, I ride for Trey-0-5)
Rick Ross!
Pitbull!
The Bottom!
Listen
got it out the dirt with a clean smirk
Fresh cut, jeans, ice clean in a t-shirt, whoa
Provided by Rowdy, support the brotherhood
I pop up back home
Dropa don nuh Rick Ross but him a the Boss
We teeth dem white like chalk yea we flass
Champagne glass ina hand wen we flass
An we youth dem flass wen we
Trina, Rick Ross, Hot Box..
I got a, fat pussy for a cocksucker
I got a, hideout for a cop ducker
I got a, condo for a baller nigga
I got a,
Rick Ross: Trilla
Bird-man: brrrr!
[Webbie]
The 'lil soldier wit nothin' clear to see wasn't nobody handin' him shit
Ridin' round town glamor
trapping
Oscar winner keep acting
Like you don't hear the LORD calling one day He's gon' reek havoc
Ask the real Rick Ross
All that money can get lost
these chips, dawg
I'm tryna eclipse y'all, like I built a big wall
Tryna be the big boss, nothing's like Rick Ross
Climbin' to the tip top, who I need
gone take a loss, yea we given him the sauce
Imma big boss, yea like Rick Ross
Yea I'm wishing you well, all the way from ATL
Picking up my cell, telling
_(cropped).jpg/218px-Rick_Ross_The_Mastermind_Tour_June_15,_2014_Toronto_(14590434716)_(cropped).jpg "Rick Ross")
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