RICK ROSS LYRICS

“Luxury Tax” - Rick Ross feat. Lil’ Wayne Lyrics, Trick Daddy Lyrics, Young Jeezy
album: Trila (2008)

[Lil Wayne:]
I think we got a problem
Yeahh…

[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]
Big money in this bitch if you didn’t knew.
Big business minus the business suit.
Even I look in the mirror like is it you,
And I say I must be the hottest if it isnt you.
Stay fresh from my top to my tennis shoes.
New coop, no top, big tennis shoes.
Never slipped, not even on the side of a swimming pool.
We don’t get rid of Q,
We get rid of fools.
They said I couldn’t play football I was too small.
Yhey say I could’ntplay basketball I wasn’t tall.
They say I could’ntplay baseball at all.
And now everyday of my life I ball.
And they say it ain’t raining until someone assassinate,
And I feel like mlk
Yeah… I have a dream to be your worst nightmare,
And now meet the boss of the cartel.

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
I’m a seven-nine satan, sitting on Lorenzzes.
And I seem really patient, picture the equation.
People taking pictures and they really getting fragrant.
Flags down my spaceship, sergeant searching for a fragrance.
Yayo, Yayo, he wanna sniff the yayo, flying saucer on the hasa
In the casa just to lay-low.
Make more (money man) that the model for the mob,
Need a blowjob my model, get a model for the job.
Go hard, no job, hustler, no prob, poster,
Nigga what finger f**k you whole squad.
Forty around spending doe, flipping for my?
Let you raid tax on them packs if you didn’t know
Bought a new crib, niggas feeling like I hid.
3.2 but I just did it for the kids.
More guns than a pawn shop,
Got my whole arm rocked.
Keep the 760 double parked in the wrong spot.

Still huustling…
BOSSS

[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
Yeah… You gotta pay for this,
I remember when I used to pray for this.
This, this is classic,
So this shit you might never see again.
And we taxin, you don’t want it nigga leave it then,
And we taxin, you don’t want it nigga leave it then.
And we ain’t trying to see the pen,
Like a needle in a hay stack we ain’t trying to see the pen.
This is a luxury tax.

[Verse 3: Young Jeezy]
(I don’t ask them baby I just tax em baby)
(Let’s go)
Yeah imagine this,
No imagine that.
Gave me my sack like, goodluck getting back.
(Yeah…)
I’m like how the f**k I’m gonna get outta there.
And if I’m not careful,
Leave em the same place they find him there.
And I’m a winner if I make it cross the finshline,
Putting food on the table like it’s dinner time.
And this is what you call sterotyping about?
Can you tell me my your dog keep sniffing my car?
Huh? Got the audacity to call me a liar.
So what you got in your trunk?
Oh, just a spare tire.
You niggas talked blow,
While I sold mine.
Like a bad crape, it’s locking up in no time.
More time in the kitchen then I spent in the studio,
Case paradise and I ain’t talking about Coolio.
Can’t lie, still addicted to the odor
Got a ice cold Pepsi,
But still thinking Coke-Cola.

Hahaha…

[Chorus: Lil Wayne]

[Verse 4: Trick Daddy]
I’m up early in the morning, and I’m dressed in black.
Hold on, every morning I get dressed in black.
While your half ass looking at my pants sagging,
I’m getting money, and my swaging and black flagging.
Million dollor status, fully automatic.
Heavy on the? and even harder on the women.
If it wasn’t for reverend,
I probably would pimpin and shit.
Pops, my papai, has already hear me.
Tied trapping, shit sent me to prison,
Got mad and went to savage so homocide came to visit.
I smell gun powder,
So you got one hour to come up with every damn dollar,
Or your dun-dolla.
It cost a ball dogg,
Especially when the players on your team,
Consider you as the ball hog.
You treat me like Shaq,
And you Kobe but I didn’t say you owe me nigga.
But act like you know me nigga.

[Chorus: Lil Wayne]

RICK ROSS LYRICS

“Boss” - Rick Ross
album: Trila (2008)

[Chorus:]
Run how you want, boss
Chill how you want, boss
Floss how you want, boss
Do whatcha like
Go rock your chain, boss
Pour that champagne, boss
Keep getting paid, boss
Do Whatcha like
Ross, la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like
Ross,la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like

[Verse 1:]
As I’m poppin’ my collar, black on black antique impala
She ain’t gotta speak ’cause my speakers let her know that I’m ballin
They call me the boss, I be calling the shots
It’s Ricky Ross, that boy be ballin alot
That boy be ridin’ big, that boy be ridin’ rim’s
Not the flats but the fish ’cause they just swim
New York to the west, you a boss if you fresh
Scuff your shoes, wipe em down
Now get back on your two step
Stunting is boss
Shining is boss
Grand daddy kush, or the purt, yellow diamonds is boss
That dime a boss, She fine as a house
And she driving a porche, She designed for a boss

[Chorus:]
Run how you want, boss
Chill how you want, boss
Floss how you want, boss
Do whatcha like
Go rock your chain, boss
Pour that champagne, boss
Keep getting paid, boss
Do Whatcha like
Ross, la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like
Ross,la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like

[Verse 2:]
I’m ridin’ big, I’m hoping lanes
My chevy thang, Got this chickens all insane
Look at my stones tap dancing on the bezzle
Bad baby at the rollie, lap dancing and wanna kiss me
Oh no, ’cause of my chain
’cause of my bling like a peacock standing on my ring
’cause I’m a boss, I’m a spend it
I’m a floss, I’m a winner
You the loss, all these niggas
Sprinkle soft ’cause im the pepper and the salt
Whatcha feel, whatcha like

Whatcha want, what’s your type
I done seen it, done it twice, bought it up the same night
’cause I’m a boss, its Ricky Ross
If u buy, if u spend it, f**k the cost
You’s a boss, You a boss

[Chorus:]
Run how you want, boss
Chill how you want, boss
Floss how you want, boss
Do whatcha like
Go rock your chain, boss
Pour that champagne, boss
Keep getting paid, boss
Do Whatcha like
Ross, la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like
Ross,la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like

[Verse 3:]
Before the block got whipped
And they Pistol got ripped
Before u got any chips
You got permission from the boss
On a mission for the charts, out-smart my competition
Composition so sharp, so dark ,so vivid
26’s on the old school
Pro tools session
Got the old school ho’s
Acting brand new sweating
Brand new tennis chain, fancy pockets on my jeans
Headed for the walk dude, fore’ they win him on the stage
Two a day, super pay
Stupid brain from a model
Triple c a hundred deep
And everybody got a bottle
Got a bottle full of purp
Full of work, no leachin’
Blew 50 last weekend, if you looking for a reason
I’m the boss

[Chorus:]
Run how you want, boss
Chill how you want, boss
Floss how you want, boss
Do whatcha like
Go rock your chain, boss
Pour that champagne, boss
Keep getting paid, boss
Do Whatcha like
Ross, la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like
Ross,la la, la la, la la
Do Whatcha like

RICK ROSS LYRICS

“Maybach Music” - Rick Ross feat. Jay-Z Lyrics
album: Trila (2008)

[Girl One] + (Girl Two)
What is this? (Maybach music)
I like this Maybach music

[Both Girls]
Sweeeeeeeeeeet!
Ha-ha-ha!

[Sample]
Come and take a ride
Come and take a ride

[Rick Ross]
Billionaire
Yayo
JUSTICE LEAGUE

[Rick Ross]
57 years, yes!
Blood for a D-Boy
Hand my mack 11 to the engineer to record
Got the baddest women in the world for me to feed on
Double deck yacht, docked Boss, blowing weed up
Revenue incredible, it put me on a pedestal
Columbia to Mexico, I figure there was a better rule
Look at me, a model now
Models and bottles ’round
A Blood holla’, ballin’
But the boys in blue, shot ‘em down
Gang-affiliated, colors prosecutors painted
‘Cause the niggas I employed, name synonymous with Mi-Yayo
Instrumental that are mental, Maybach kind of mental
400 off the lot, the block is monumental
Some things money can’t buy
Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride
In the rear, so many instruments I hear
Tucked behind curtain, no signs to fear (ROSS!)
I’m higher than a leer / Aaliyah
This Maybach music, designer shit I wear
May cause you to lose it
Close your eyes and inhale the smoke
It’s Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote, nigga!
5 ounces, take a toke
Of this Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote
BOSS!

[Jay-Z]
YOUNG!
F**k it then!

[Jay-Z]
Black Maybach, white seas, black piping
Remind me of Paul McCartney and Mike fighting
You know, The Girl Is Mine
Life’s A Bitch+, so The Whole World Is Mine
The six-deuce long, the curtains are drawn
Perfectly like a Picasso, Rembrandts and Rocco’s
I’m a major player, 40-40’s in Vegas at the Palazzo
They said it was not so

Certain things that money can’t buy
Like being this fly
‘Til then, I’m just gonna’ ride!
I’m like G-Rap with better transportation
On the road to the riches, reach my +Final Destination+
And the lair, closer to a leer / Aaliyah
Say a Prayer, hope I get ta’ see her
When I disappear from here - baby, yeah!
But I don’t see the ending through these millionaire lenses
Just the Two M’s on the emblem
The partition roof, translucent and Humador
Where refrigerators, where Ace of Spades – two I store!
True story, my closet is like two stories
Cut to the happy ending, ’cause I don’t do stories
Shawn Corey, real rap
The Maybach is bananas, peel back!
You feel that?
YOUNG! C’mon!

[Jay-Z]
Realest shit I ever wrote, chillin’ in my Maybach
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back
Since way back, since way back
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back!
Realest shit I ever wrote, chillin’ in my Maybach
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back
Since way back, since way back
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back!

[Rick Ross]
BOSS!
Can’t be stopped now
We got too much cake

[Rick Ross]
They pinching pennies, while I’m muscling for meals
And the muscle be that muzzle, when I stuff it in your grill
Stuffed shells - thanks to crack, I crack
Crab and lobsters, not all mobsters
Imposters - got cha!
Boy, I got an eagle view, slanted on my balcony
Can only stay a week or two, so many people out for me
I bulletproofed the Maybach
Got a killer’s intuition
Holding on that mack 11, Makaveli premonition
Waiting on my Suge Knight
One nation under God, since I chose a thug’s life
Guess I gotta’ play my part
Never will I die, my name symbolize
The hustle for young killers coming from the other side
Some things your money can’t buy
Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride
I’m large, my black car
Menagin’ black broads, massage for frauds
I’m livin’ large, sellin’ fat rocks
In the Killin’ Field of hip-hop
Runnin’ up on the car, you get popped, mopped and dropped!
I’m The Boss!

RICK ROSS LYRICS

“Money Make Me Come” - Rick Ross feat. Ebonylove
album: Trila (2008)

[Girl: Talkin]
Dis for the trill xxxxxxx xxxx a nigga money make me come
Boss u betta tell em

[Rick Ross:]
I need a real xxxxx 365 let her count the cheese let her see the pies
Some may say in foolish but we have a ball
She make moves on my behalf when I had no bond all the death threats cause I ol niggas
She told me get rest those are hoe niggas that’s a real xxxxx she had to show niggas cause I
Was blind to the fact she was a hoe nigga I’m counting doe nigga yea double count
Somthin xxx up short she’ll point it out niggas try to holla she will point it out
She will catch a flight she will run a rout

[Chorus: x3]
We got grams in this xxxxx girl come and get you some
Money make me come money money make me come

She a real xxxxx so she gotta stunt she get her weaves done at least five times a month
She don’t call em purses xxxxx call em bags I don’t know the names I no they cost some
Stacks she deserves this she serves her purpose she saves her juice box till it looks perfect
F**k the ascamot xxxx with a astranaut I’m in the ghost streams nots in my ashy watch
I need a real bitch[x2] xxx like trina and the brain with the business I needs a real bitch
She get ya what ya need she get ya what ya want she even roll ya weed

[Chorus]

I need a real xxxxx 365 let her count the cheese let her see the pies
Some may say in foolish but we have a ball she make moves on my behalf when
I had no bond cop the big rich let her move in it condo around the corner with all the
Tools in it take her two minutes she’ll be there and back buss her when u c that pretty
Face u betta lay flat

[Chorus: till it fades]

RICK ROSS LYRICS

“Speedin’” - Rick Ross feat. R. Kelly Lyrics
album: Trila (2008)

[Rick Ross:]
Legendary, runners… you know me,

[R. Kelly:]
ooo-whoaaaaa,ooo-whoaaaaa

[Rick Ross:]
Thrilla!!

ooo-whoaaaaa,ooo-whoaaaaa

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Every dollar that I count can’t go in my account, my account can’t count up all my money in an hour, cause it’s comin too fast and I’m scared it won’t last, look that white girl in her face told her this was her last dance, God Damn! speed got my heart racin, see I don’t have the nominations you can blame it on my occupation.. ceasar salad, ceasars palace, you not a boss lil’ nigga cause your cheese is average, in the benz AK ridin shotgun, it’s a benz cause your broke til you got one, it ain’t nothing do 100 in the maybach, throwin money out the roof, motha f**k the break pads

[Chorus:]
Fast life, I live, big cars, big cribs… Speedin, I’m speedin.. I can’t stop it’s all I know, from a youngin I was taught “get doe”… I’m speedin (speedin) I’m speedin!

[Verse 2:]
People came lookin for me, shit, I got ghosts.. See the west coast posted up in da “La Montrose”
Big money… Boss major
American idol, I got fans like fantasia
Read between the lines or yo ass like fantasia
Get hit between the eyes he died they can’t save him

I’m a mosh I’m weevin (no coke) but I’m speedin
Staring at the skyline I got a million on my mind I’m the best
and these pussy niggas running out of time (ricky ross)
I’m the chill quarter mill for the time piece, ya I a bought a wheels, and i deals wit a dime piece

[Chorus]

[Verse 3:]
Sittin in the living room watching the grammys wishing that was me that was on the grammys..
All I needed was someone to get behind me money rain on me!!
I was a determined lil’ nigga, dirty shoe’s and hillfiger
Homey help me out cause his boy is a drug dealer,
now im flyin high cuz ma “gift” grew wings”, and now i’m flyin down like da coupe grew wings
Kells and Ross on the hollywood scene.. Red carpet and we smellin like green
Now floss cause I got paid off “calabra” was the hit poppin R&B Boss

[Chorus]

We fly.. I think somebody followin.. we near da helipad.. widya bitch
You worth fifteen million baby don’t try to blow it all in one week
F**k wit me..Triple-C’s.. Boss (I’m speedin I’m speedin)
I’m a fly away on you haters
I done came up so fast movies, endorsements, films… we own things… Boss