Song parody of

Mafia Music 3

by Rick Ross

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  • English English (English)
  • French Français (French)
  • Spanish Español (Spanish)

My corner so polluted, young niggas looting I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student Remarkable hustle, my niggas coming home I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed Niggas caught him slipping, gave him a shit bag Five shots to the stomach, 2Pac gift pack It's death row, conspiracy theories Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury Get some money now, you hated by your own kind The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline GABOS, game ain’t based on sympathy So he put a hit on his cousin at 18 A sweet potato pie, oh me, oh my Showing no remorse watching the others cry Heroin sales, detectives'll sell A lot of yellow tape, where that Obama care? This the mob, bitch, silk underwear Yeezy concerts, Kim Instagrams Niggas hating, though they studied my moves I'm like Farrakhan, in view of hundreds of Jews Two attempts on my life, they threatened venues Can't you see what I am? The hustle continue I bought more jewels, I ordered the Wraith I got a new style of shoes, match the watch in the face Bill Belichick, coaching and calling the shots Throw a yellow flag, pussy nigga body drops Then we celebrate, black bottles pop Time to elevate, we re-open shop Wale a genius, Meek Mill a superstar My new crib in Phoenix, ten car garage Petite felite, platinum Audemars Ain't no tags needed, nigga, I own them cars I know them bitches, we met them broads Never loved one, fucked them all I'm a fucking dog, Ricky fucking Ross Nigga Birkin bags just for my runner-ups But my main bitch she get the main dish Not the old range, that was a lame bitch Brazilian weave, she say I came quick I let her see a hundred ki's, a different St. Nick Moving bricks like it's Black Friday She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby Looking over my shoulder, I can't trust a soul Bought a spot in Anguilla just for me and my ho Glock .40, even when I shower Chrome .22 in my swimming towel Mob ties and I pray the music set me free May the powers that be, nigga let me be We around when the sun goes down And the real, real killers they mourn for ya It's gonna be a bloodshed One month, one day it's gonna be a bloodshed Bop, gunshot in the head Payback is a motherfucker Yes, I feel it when I squeeze the trigger I feel the air when my enemies die I feel the strength of ten killas What is to be, will be Only God on earth can kill me 'Cause these fucking streets filthy And I ain't fucking guilty Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly Boy die Guns go off ah suh me say Murderings in anyway Gangsta no take no chance, from no guy Know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly Boy die Guns go off ah suh we say Murderings in anyway You better not be around, when the sun goes down And the real real killas, them hunt for you Ay, it's gonna be a bloodshed One bust, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed Gun shot in a head Sizzla Kalonji have de girls dem screaming Entire country every sweet gyal Ya already know the meaning but its streaming Go and clean, ya cant diss me ya must be dreaming Jamaicans make dem know we can't defeat dem (Mo' fire)

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Mafia Music 3


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