Из альбома: Rick Ross vs. Young Jeezy (Open Case, Volume 1)
[Intro: Young Jeezy]
Say, Rih-Rih, let’s take this shit to the street one-time, you know?
Throwin’ hundreds like loose change, still got my money
Got your broad in that Mulsanne, that Bentley homie
Seats whiter than cocaine, that .40 on me
Got me and Chi-Chi, bring broads, mane
She like my homie
[Verse 1: Young Jeezy]
I’m King Tut with my gold chain
My partner with me, he the dope mane
Straight gas ni*ga, that BP
On that E40, that OG
These bitch ni*gas be actin' up
These hoes ni*gas be actin' foul
They’ll grind with you, they’ll shine with you
Be pointin’ fingers off at your trial
My Rolls Royce with my driver in it
Gettin’ f*cked up ‘cause I ain’t got to drive
That Kendrick on them bottles
Came, poured a swimming pool, now we 'bout to dive
Got one room, got three b*tches
Ni*ga damn right that’s where they’re supposed to be
Two Glock .40s at all time
Gone shoot back a ni*ga shooting me, you know it
[Hook: Rihanna]
Oh ohh ohhh
Ohhh oh oh oh
All I see is signs
All I see is dolla' signs
Oh ohh ohhh
Ohhh oh oh oh
Money on my mind
Money money on my mind
Throw it throw it up
Watch it fall out from the sky
Throw it up throw it up
Watch it all fall out
Pour it up pour it up
That's how we ball out
Throw it up throw it up
Watch it all fall out
Pour it up pour it up
That's how we ball out
That's how we ball out
That's how we ball out
That's how we ball out
[Interlude: Rick Ross]
It's the biggest ni*ga in the game
Sexy b*tches world wide, wassap?
F*ck with me huh?
[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
My foreign cars, domestic beefs
Peter Luger’s, the better seats
Dollar after dollar, bottle after bottle
Late for you haters even though my plane charter
Suede Bally shoes, true rude boy
Ferrari 400 horses, we do it for cool points (HAHA)
Baby, do the math, I’m coppin’ Chanel bags
Talkin’ Bal Harbour, cigars by Hermes
Know we ran the streets, eatin’ cold bully beef
Now we at the Grammys, Tom Ford to my feet
Boss on the avi, Rihanna screensaver
Whenever you see fact boy, I know it mean paper
[Verse 3: Juicy J]
Juicy J pourin’ up codeine, Benz all white, no chlorine
Bad chick with me got *ss and titties
Freaky b*tch gon’ f*ck the whole team
Ziplock bag full of OG, I go in like a door key
Your girlfriend down on both knees, she catch more balls than a goalie
Purple all in my sprite, I’m high as Denzel on Flight
Scared money don’t make no money
You ni*gas shaky like dice
I’m in the bed with your wife
We poppin’ pills, we goin’ hard
When she with you she a church girl
When she with me she a pornstar
Smokin’ on doobies like cigarettes
Which one these strippers give head the best?
Pu*sy so good that I think I’m in love
What am I saying? It must be the drugs (drugs, drugs)
Pour it up, pop that a*s, I make it rain ho
I’ll make it flood, shorty, you might need a raincoat
[Verse 4: Rihanna]
Strip clubs and dolla' bills
Still got mo' money
Patron shots can I get a refill
Still got mo' money
Strippers going up and down that pole
Still got mo' money
4'o clock and we ain't going home
Cause I still got mo' money
Money make the world go round
Still got mo' money
Bands make you girl go down
Still got mo' money
Lot more where that came from
Still got mo' money
The look in your eyes
I know you want some
Still got mo' money
[Bridge: Rihanna]
Pour it up, pour it up
That's how we ball out, that's how we ball out
That's how we ball out, that's how we ball out
Still got mo' money, still got mo' money
Still got mo' money, still got mo' money
[Verse 5: T.I.]
I catch a case and I go to jail
I came home and went back, oh well
I’m multiplying everything I spend
These trap ni*gas I represent
It’s Hustle Gang an