Feat. Rick Ross, The Game, Fat Joe, Pusha-T & Dirtbag
DJ Khaled: Yeah, it's DJ Khaled Don Dotta Big Dog Pitbull, Terror Squadron AKA The Beat Novocain Remix, remix, remix Listennn, Dre (this is, this is) Pusha (this is, this is, this is) The Game (this is, this is, this is) Fat Joe (this is, this is, this is, this is) Rick Ross, listennn
Verse 1 Pusha-T: If he claim king, and he claim best Then I guess you could call me god There’s none higher, none flyer, the kingpin is back Louis Vuitton frames hide the face of the supplier Peek-a-boo, take a look at what these kilos do Air conditioner Jacob watches, three on blue 100 thousand, it should come in some Maalox too Give me the option to get it serviced and just be loose Three years gone, feds tappin' the phone Rappers downloading my style, I’m feeling like a ringtone (Yuk) The hiatus, they tried to Mini-Me me Triple beams to big jeans; they'll never be me Re-Up Gang, known as the Kilo Shoppers Riding Chevy's, give us room to reload choppers Gourmet beef, servin' niggaz filet Oscar So many bitches screamin' we should promote operas, haha
Verse 2 The Game: Chevy ridin’ high boy, look at the hot wheels If you hot-headed, we gon' pop steel And when I pop the trunk, you see a lotta pumps I make the ass bounce like a bitch in some Prada pumps I drive '6-Treys ('6-Treys) '6-4s ('6-4s) The real '6-4s, watch that ass get low And I'm the rappin' assassin, ask Rick Ross Gangstas don't dance, we make the car do the Laffy Taffy I ain't Yung Joc, but I got a motorbike And I got a hoe I like, she like to do the motorbike I'm from Murdaville, and I rep the Dodgers Throwing white balls out that '6-4 Impala
Verse 3: Dre: No, it's not the Doctor, but it's still D-R-E Tryna move them units like the Chronic did in '93 (Yeah) On that 95 (Yeah) doin' 95 I let four of them things go for like 95 Black Dickies set, black Chevrolet Impala (Whoo) Trunk fulla that black market packed product (Whoo) Game hit me, told me Black Wallstreet popped the collar (Uh) Pusha-T, I got yo' back nigga, I'ma holla (Yeah) They tryna J.F.K. your boy (No) The media and papers tryna blame ya boy (No) But the only thing gettin' dropped because of me (Ya) Is the roof on that '7-Trey Chevy Caprice
Hook Dre & Rick Ross: Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high boy Chevy ridin' high (Bumping gangsta music) Chevy, Chevy ridin' high boy Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high (Bumping gangsta music)
Verse 4 Fat Joe: Throw your money in the air niggaz Put your sets up (yeah) If you're ready to ride and down to wet some'n It's Coca baby (yes) say it with conviction DA's hate me, I got no convictions They won't leave me 'til the day they greet me with life Catchin' up with old friends is like speakin' to the mic And I ain't Mr. Innocent, but some'n ain't right When there's five docs, get in a lineup then I'm right My life's a movie (Yes) You love to hate me (Yes) GT Porsche, double exhaust baby It's all bubbles when you sittin' on mils Then you fucked the game up with them Puerto Rico grills
Verse 5 Rick Ross: My guns got whips, quiet-ridin' on them Air Shox Ice cream got the car painted like a glow-pot (Ross) No chop, just guts in the glasshouse 10 blocks, no cut in my last house Pull the pots out, watch out, I'm a chef (chef) It's Ricky Ross, I'm the boss and the fuckin' best (best) I'ma burn rubber (rubber) I'ma burn cheese (cheese) I'ma burn these boys tryna hurt me
Verse 6 Dirtbag: I'm on that reefer and liquor Whent on the block kinda pitcher The public see me in my Chevy, gotta s