Rick Ross - Finals 2 (featuring Wale, Rockie Fresh, Gunplay, Fat Trel, Tracy T, French Montana) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Rick Ross
• Finals 2 (featuring Wale, Rockie Fresh, Gunplay, Fat Trel, Tracy T, French Montana)

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
We them niggas at the park, we just wanna ball
Sellin' dope to get a car and don't know what it's called
Niggas foul but the referees don't get involved
It's the finals and my dogs came to take it all
2014 and them boys back
I'm on the finals on the floor and that boy strapped
50 stacks for the seat, bring the popcorn
Diamond chains and my million dollar cross on
Yeah they tell me that these ain't the streets to floss on
I put your bitch on my list, and it's not long
Runnin' down on niggas, they retract their statement
I keep a bomb, I drop it like a compilation
All y'all niggas claim to know me well
Top down, I got your bitch's hair in a ponytail
She never been to Tom Ford, nigga
So I double back for that encore, nigga
Yayo comin' out my pores, nigga
You should see me and them stars, nigga
Rich niggas don't test drive
And double M, that be the best
I let her count the cake up in my stash spot
Put all her naked photos in my laptop
We got a bond that we could never break
She wash her hair with Belaire, that pussy sweet as cake

[Hook: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She fuckin' ordinary niggas
Your bitch be fuckin' ordinary niggas

[Verse 2: Wale]
I took a break to let these lames get their thing off
Now I seen the scenery, can't seem to get the cigar
These hoes a free throw, Stevenson and LeBron
I just let her blow, in a moment she gon' be home
Isolate the offense, nigga don't you hear me talkin'?
And you know I watch more green than like floor season tickets in Boston
And we show off like Dolph Ziggler, let raw bitches get tossed out
All I call is bad shit like I'm bashing Joe Crawford
And these dudes ain't slick, sayin' you, is that you? Buyin' Jordans?
But we know their set, like a Euro step, them niggas nearly walkin'
So turn me up, I got it, turn me up, I got it
Thank God for this hip-hop cause on ESPN I bombed it
You can see that we keep our promise
I could beat up, beat up, no conscience
And ridin' with my feet up, my seat up, reclinin'
Supreme up, my tee, and Moschino designer
Believe that your female'll follow
[?] cause we at the Finals
Swag champion, believe that, ring at the counter

[Hook: Rick Ross]

[Verse 3: Fat Trel]
I tried to let you pussy niggas eat
My chopper pussy kill and put you pussies in the street
Say fuck the major cause I wasn't made for industry
SB be the realest so picture them niggas killin' me
Let's get it, I got them same dirty niggas with me
Silencers give you life but they make a major difference
You play a witness, I heard you snitchin', you paid the hitter
Chanel purses and red bottoms, I'm bookin' tickets
My clip a 50, my money dirty, her pussy sticky
You give her hickeys, I fuck her, duck her and pass to Ricky
My palms itchy, I coulda swore I just hit the lotto
Safe house in Cabo, my Spanish bitch related to Blanco
My blanket Morocco, my carpet is Cuban
It's never ordinary, don't confuse me with humans
17 fire, what the fuck was you doin'?
Your bricks were 30 apiece and 28 if you knew him

[Hook: Rick Ross]

[Verse 4: Gunplay]
Limpin' like a pimp, jumpin' out the gym
6 Ring J's, every play's a win
Countin' cash in the huddle, blocka, flash from the muzzle
Spazz on a busta, beat your ass like a buzzer
Oh lord, here come the ball hogger
They call him Gunplay, they call him Don Logan
He a livin' legend, keep the engine revin'
And the firearm, bring the fire alarm
Fuck Donald Sterling, fuck him, fuck Donald Sterling
Fuck him, fuck Donald Sterling, screamin' fuck Donald Sterling
Load the clips with my clippers, tippin' all the strippers
They bitin' on my belt buckle, grippin' on the zippers
Sn

Rick Ross еще тексты