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Rick Ross – Supreme

Rick Ross
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исполнитель Rick Ross

правообладатель Universal Music Group Def Jam Recordings

жанр Рэп

длительность 03:37

размер 8.31 MB

битрейт 320 kbps

загружено Universal Music Group

I just left the new United States embassy Somewhere in Georgia it's 109 rooms I saw 30 bitches and 30 rooms and I was on the wrong side of the house Oh Anytime me and Scott Scorch get together you gotta call us the Illuminati Whenever you see the G it represents God and geometry That's what the stencil's for I'ma take you deeper though Nah, I'm just fuckin' with you Aye, Scott, I'm just fuckin' with you, baby Yo Speedin' in the Ghost on the phone with jewelers My new bitch out of D.C., call me Ricky the Ruler Gotta gather my concentration while countin' my stacks I got eight car notes and just lost me a pack On the beach, I'm up and down, women jockin' my ride 300 horses in this bitch, need a jockey inside False floors for firearms is how you should ride Tried to murder me while in mine so that's how I survived My new deal with Def Jam just set me for life Warner to Chappell to BMI, I'm just rollin' the dice Big numbers, I'm John Wall, I'm ballin' tonight Just jokin', my sense of humor is like one of a kind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Tell me it's real Tell me this is real, baby How does it feel? How does it feel? Geechi Liberace, I’m rich as a bitch Charm city boys get a whole city of brick Through the wire we wettin' niggas, set the shit on fire My bitch smilin' I wanna bet, now we on Fisher Isle Panamera with Tony Draper, briefcase full of paper Made a killin' on Martin Luther James Earl shooter My niggas, we grew apart, they joined the rival gang Caught them slippin', gave them a pass throwin' pistols at survivin' gang Next time boss gotta turn his back on 'em Lettin' young boys brrrrat on 'em Facts, never find me with the fake look Trappin' little babies, bitch, just take me to the cakebook Black bottles, boy, that's how our case of ace look Your chick, homie, hit homie on the Facebook Damn, she hit homie on the motherfuckin' Facebook Tell me it's real, I wanna know How does it feel, yeah, how does it feel? Clean Maybach, but I'm filthy as shit The partition is for the women, how busy we get From the scotch, the large mop, bet the linkin' feel It's all a dream and never wake me up until it's real Duffle bags, that's for the homie when he comin' home He never told and he never used the telephone He on swole and that nigga need a telephone In a Range Rover and a real nigga got it for him Hey, hey... You wanna know how does it feel Hey, hey... I know, I bet it must feel so real Hey, hey... Tell me it's real, I wanna know hey hey ey How does it feel to be so real You know when hangin' with billion dollar niggas One of the perks is gettin' to meet all these billion dollar bitches I just met a bitch who never gets jetlag And spent 10 thousand dollars on not her best bag You underdig that
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