Ross’ Lyrics
[above1]
Credit: Rick Diamond/Getty Images
F**k boy talking out of turn n***a
In the court room, spreading like a germ n***a
25 on the line, them niggas dropping dimes
Whole operation got them rednecks dropping time
Khaki suits and some n***s go to acting cute
We was all cool, stacking in Acura coupes
More accurately, we acted as is if jacking was cool
Snatching ni***s out they shoes then wear jackets to school
F**k boy, you caught up in my dream
Counting cream on the cover of a magazine
I’m the source, got the plug with the uncut
JAY Z Blue Magic n***a, what what
Brand new S Class with a meal ticket
N***a cocaine white as Tommy Hilfiger
Ralph Lauren Blue Label as I’m gettin high
Triple dream dreamin as the cream multiples
Fuck boy talkin out of turn ni**a
‘Fore you sell dope, it’s shit you gotta learn ni**a
Home invasions, duct tape
Fornicating, counting money with a f**k face
Fucking bitches that be giving up your whereabouts
Slow leaks, gotta air em out
Kill ’em all, Rolls Royce Ghost ni**a, ball
Phantom drop head, shit I had to get em all
Ni***s hate but they know they never get involved
Food on the plate, f**k em all I could send my dog
Triple beam dreams, the ghetto’s my reality
I’m from where your hustle determines your salary
Six figure family member, n***a forget about it
Low income housing, n***a trying to get up out it
I got a plan little n***a, just believe in me
Triple beam dreamin with this thing in me.
