Pusha T x Rick Ross - Millions | Текст песни

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• Pusha T x Rick Ross
• Millions

[Intro: Pusha-T]
You know what happen when G.O.O.D. Music and MMG get together, right?
We get that money

[Hook: Pusha-T]
Millions in the ceiling
Choppas in the closet

[Verse 1: Pusha-T]
This that shit that y'all wanted
This shit cook up hard, don't it?
Y'all gotta beg my pardon on it
But this shit sound like God don't it?
Yeah, I'm tired, nigga, and y'all gotta pay your tithes, nigga
Call my Phantom the holy ghost, church on chrome wheel tires, nigga
Pop tags, I'm not paranoid cause the pawn shop was my paradise
I was dead pot when that bounty came for that knot saved in that shoebox
Blue tops, blue tops, bad bitch in that blue fox
This big face is in blu-ray and these black diamonds like boondocks
I restore the feelin' of when niggas made a killin'
Hidin' choppers in the closet, half a million in the ceiling
And them hoes with angel faces, cryin' loud with ill intentions
Just so I can buy them Christians, have 'em shit on all they bitches, ah!

[Hook x2]

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
I'm haunted by horror stories, wanna-be home owners
Horrible outcomes, a dope boy got one motive
Cries when he convicted, cried on every visit
I'm cryin' sayin' his name, ride for all my niggas
Used to fiddle my finger 'til I found me a fortune
Finger fuckin' Ferrari, south of France early morning
Did drugs with Donatella, Versace my a cappella
Never see me in Neiman's, niggas committin' treason
Soft loafer preferred, frost, organic herb
Stay away from the Forbes, if I only could tell you more
I got this I got that, I got that I got this
Got a kilo for 20 my choppas say I'm the shit

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3: Pusha T]
This that shit y'all ask for
Make a nigga mash on the gas, floor
Two-door, four-door, roll through the hood like task force
Fast forward--oops! They say they wanna see proof
My record sales ain't much as theirs and we still ride in same coupes
How we still fuck the same hoes, how we still buy the same clothes
How we both got the same watch, I'm just keepin' y'all on your toes
Dope boys, gold mine, that price drop and that coke rise
Then set it over that blue flame then hang it dry like clothes line
I restore the feelin' of when niggas made a killin'
Hidin' choppers in the closet, half a million in the ceiling
Got the razor on the counter, Arm & Hammer in the kitchen
Just to keep my feet in Christians and keep fucking all y'all bitches

[Hook] x2

[Outro] x4
This that shit ya'll wanted
This shit sound like God don't it

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