Mafia Music - Rick Ross

Yeah, I got a feelin' nigga, really that my money be the root

Look up at the stars, she like, «Honey, where the roof?»

Pull up, hear the dogs, Canaries, they gon' woof

Even once had a job pourin' tar up on a roof

That boy had it hard, no facade, it’s the truth

So now when I menage and get massaged it’s the proof

Proof’s in the pudding and that baking soda cakin'

Paper that I’m makin' got her takin' photos naked

Listenin' to niggas like whistlin' at Wendy Williams

I flip my middle finger, I’m chillin' on twenty million

The rumors turn me on, I’m masturbatin' at the top

These hoes so excited, so they catchin' every drop

I’m dodgin' debacles like potholes in Jamaica

We cut down the weed, bury the paper on the 'maicas

Martin had a dream, Bob got high

I still do both but somehow I got by

Creflo prayed, Mike Vick paid

Bobby Brown straight, Whitney lost weight

Kimbo Slice on the pad when I write

That Mayweather money lookin' funny in the light

But who really cares?

We just throw it in the air

Celebratin' wealth, pourin' Moet in her hair

Excuse me, her weave, the bluest of weed

Trunk full of white, car smell like blue cheese

That boy get salad, beef bowel movements

BMWs on them big thangs lookin' foolish

Shawty sitting low, big thangs popping

Tip on the Glock from a Crip up in Compton

Shootin' at the cops, fuck one-time

I gave her to the block, I fucked one time

We Boyz N the Hood, and nigga, you lil' Tre

Suppress ya appetite, we takin' ya lil' tray

Love my handgun, but my choppa still the shit

Banned in 1994, but I’m «2 Legit 2 Quit»

1996, kilos was the shit

But that was better than roofin', that shit be bad fo' ya skin

Niggas was ruthless, Lord knows that I sin

But I thought about my future and the loops I could pin

Walked out on the gig and I turned to the streets

Kept my name low-key, I ain’t heard from in weeks

I came up wit a strategy to come up mathematically

I did it for the city but now everybody mad at me

Motherfuck 'em all, they sweat from my balls

If I drop another album, I did that for my dawgs

Ten Maybachs everybody ridin' big

I just sit back like, «Look what I did»

Then I bow my head and beg for forgiveness

Once I said my prayer, everybody back to business

Smokin' on a blunt in my own restaurant

People lookin' from a distance think I’m Big Daddy Conch

Reincarnated, spirit of a G

Beef I’ll make you thinner, take a seat so we can eat

A Farrakhan aura, pause on the pork

You eat from the bowl, while your dog need a fork

Niggas ain’t loyal, snakes slithered in they coil

I’m laughin' at you cuz, kill you niggas when I’m bored (yeah!)

We steppin' on you crew 'til them motherfuckers crush

And makin' sweet love to every women that ya lust

I love to pay ya bills, can’t wait to pay ya rent

Curtis Jackson baby mama, I ain’t askin' for a cent

Burn the house down nigga, you gotta buy another

Don’t forget the gas can, jealous stupid motherfucker

To another chapter, paper that I captured

Caught up in the rapture off gunshots and laughter

Homicide is humor and nigga you lookin' funny

Women love to stare cause they know they see the money

I open up her mind by openin' bank accounts

Deposit a hundred stacks, break-up, won’t take it out

Baby that’s a gift, maybe you could live

I knew it wouldn’t work but, I just like to give

Used to run the street, young nigga bare feet

Now I’m in the suites and I’m eatin' crab meats

Ice so right, other rappers envy

They callin' all my jewelers up, askin what he spendin' (whaaat?)

Thinkin' 'bout Boss, not thinkin' 'bout them

This a letter to my enemies, one I won’t send

Amen