Rick Ross

Rick Ross - Burn

rate me

Sitting on some Cali weed I think it’s time to burn

Pull up in some shit to put and draw you gotta learn

Cocaine cowboy you better wait your turn

Michael Corleone, money come and get it on the curve

Niggas wanna hate that’s why they get what they deserve

We only dealing way we had to live and then we learn

No more jays on the porch, days that we were poor

Amazed by mama’s boy, bumping maze in the Porsche

Bullet proof the suburban, they hating when you earn it

Bitches be rolling in it, they say I’m so photogenic

Every night it’s a feast, niggas be having beef

I keep me a young boy, I call him my chief keef

Shooters be with extort, go to war over jordans

But you know I’m in reese, kidnapping over them keys

But you know I’m in reese, kidnapping over them keys

Niggas want talk

What they gone say

I hit the pedal til that muthafucka break

Freaky bitches love the money I make

And to live like this

You muthafuckas gotta pay

So let that shit burn

Let that shit burn

Let that shit burn

Let that shit burn

Gasoline,

The roof on fire, I’m only gettin’ higher

50 racks all in my pocket, all the bottles

I’ma let that shit burn

Hammer on the dresser, work on the stove

I'm sitting on the counter blowing purp out my nose

Red bone naked, in the bed flexin'

I say bitch I ain't impressed you must of got the wrong impression

I ain't with the BS, I'm flyer than PF

Man, we living in hell like a deep breath

Real niggas with real money, real bitches with fake asses

If she don't wanna fuck I get on my skateboard and I skate passed her

Money on the table, guns on the table

Bitch I'm on that syrup tell that ho leggo my Eggo

And my girlfriend is a choppa, I finger fuck that ho

Hello I am Tunechi: you had me at hello

Drop top Maybach, clean like Ajax

Man I don't fuck with none of you niggas like rednecks

We got that work so come and get if we dont know you, you pay tax

I put a hole in your apple what that is apple jacks, uh

Pussy nigga I'll murder you then dance at your funeral

Blood I'll have a nigga drinking his own blood communion

Wake up like Bone Thugs I'll call your bluff pick the phone up

Her titties fake but they look real cubic: zirconia's

Run up in your house spare the kids and kill the grown ups

Your bitch call me when she hot: Krispy Kreme donuts

Shoutout to my new hoes, shoutout to my old hoes

I still wear that ass out like a wardrobe

Bitch, what they gonna say?

Still eating rappers on my fucking lunch break

Bad yellow bitch with a tongue like a snake

I let her suck my dick then I fuck her to some Drake

And then I let that kush burn let that kush burn

Yeah I let that kush burn

Smoking gasoline bitch

The booth on fire I'm in here getting higher

Young Money bitch we at the top like barbwire

Chain all V.S. I ain't with the B.S

Catch me in your city riding hard through the B.X

Skinny nigga but I do it Large like a 3X

The last nigga tried to do me wrong umm he checked

Right back to that money slinging O's in the P.Jects

Or prolly catchin mileage while the pilot steer the P-Jet

Cause we next and we flex like

Get this song at:  amazon.com  sheetmusicplus.com

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found