Rick Ross - Mafia Music III
[Produced by Bink!]
[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
My corner so polluted, young niggas lootin'
I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student
Remarkable hustle, my niggas comin' home
I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed
Niggas caught him slippin', 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 and auntie
Her sweet potato pies, oh me, oh my
Showin' no remorse, watchin 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 hatin', 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, coachin' and callin' 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
Patek Philippe, 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 fuckin' dog, Ricky fuckin' 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 gift from St. Nick
Movin' bricks like it's Black Friday
She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby
Lookin' 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 swimmin' towel
Mob ties and I pray the music set me free
May the powers that be better let me be
[Chorus: Mavado]
Ya better not be around when the sun goes down
And the real, real killers them out for ya
It's gonna be be a bloodshed
One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
Gun- gunshot inna head
[Verse 2: Mavado]
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 killer
What is to be will be
Only God alone can kill me
‘Cause these fuckin' streets filthy
And I ain't fuckin' guilty
[Verse 3: Sizzla]
Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?
Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die
Guns go off, or so we say
Murderation, anywhere
Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?
Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die
Guns go off, or so we say
Murderation, anywhere
[Chorus: Mavado]
Ya better not be around when the sun goes down
And the real, real killers them out for ya
It's gonna be be a bloodshed
One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
Gun- gunshot inna head
[Outro: Sizzla]
Sizzla Kolanji and Rick Ross have the girls them screaming
Entire country, every street lab, you already know the meaning
Born ah stream and me go in clean, you can't diss me you must be dreaming
Jamaicans, let them know we carry the team in
Bu'n 'Paya!
[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
My corner so polluted, young niggas lootin'
I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student
Remarkable hustle, my niggas comin' home
I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed
Niggas caught him slippin', 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 and auntie
Her sweet potato pies, oh me, oh my
Showin' no remorse, watchin 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 hatin', 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, coachin' and callin' 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
Patek Philippe, 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 fuckin' dog, Ricky fuckin' 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 gift from St. Nick
Movin' bricks like it's Black Friday
She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby
Lookin' 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 swimmin' towel
Mob ties and I pray the music set me free
May the powers that be better let me be
[Chorus: Mavado]
Ya better not be around when the sun goes down
And the real, real killers them out for ya
It's gonna be be a bloodshed
One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
Gun- gunshot inna head
[Verse 2: Mavado]
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 killer
What is to be will be
Only God alone can kill me
‘Cause these fuckin' streets filthy
And I ain't fuckin' guilty
[Verse 3: Sizzla]
Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?
Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die
Guns go off, or so we say
Murderation, anywhere
Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why?
Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die
Guns go off, or so we say
Murderation, anywhere
[Chorus: Mavado]
Ya better not be around when the sun goes down
And the real, real killers them out for ya
It's gonna be be a bloodshed
One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed
Gun- gunshot inna head
[Outro: Sizzla]
Sizzla Kolanji and Rick Ross have the girls them screaming
Entire country, every street lab, you already know the meaning
Born ah stream and me go in clean, you can't diss me you must be dreaming
Jamaicans, let them know we carry the team in
Bu'n 'Paya!
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