Correction Lyrics Luxury Tax by Rick Ross

Featuring(s) : Jeezy, Lil Wayne & Trick Daddy

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Lyrics

E-Class, I think we got a problem

Yeah, 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?"
Then I say "I must be the hottest if it isn't you"
Stay fresh, from my top to my tennis shoes
New coupe, no top, big tennis shoes
Never slippin', even on the side of a swimming pool
We don't get ridiculed, we get rid of fools
They said I couldn't play football, I was too small
They said I couldn't play basketball, I wasn't tall
They said I couldn't play baseball at all
And now every day of my life, I ball
And they say you ain't great until someone assassinate
And I feel like MLK
Yeah, "I Have a Dream" to be your worst nightmare
Now meet The Boss of The Cartel, Ross

I'm a sinner, not Satan
Sittin' on Lorenzos and I seem really patient
Picture the equation
People takin' pictures and they really gettin' flagrant
Flaggin' down my spaceship, sergeant sniffin' for a fragrance
Yayo! Yayo! He wanna sniff the yayo
Flyin' saucer on the hasa, in the casa just to lay low
Make more money man, that's the motto for the mob
Need a blow-job, my motto, get a model for the job
Go hard, no job, hustler, no prob
Post up, nigga what? Finger-fuck your whole squad
Forty round extend-o, flip it for my kinfolk
Luxury tax on them packs, if you didn't know
Bought a new crib, niggas feelin' like I hid
3.2, but I did it for the kids
More guns than a pawnshop
Got my whole arm rocked
Keep the 760 double-parked in the wrong spot
Still hustlin', boss

Yeah, you gotta pay for this
I remember when I used to pray for this
This, this is classic, some shit you might not 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 tryna see the Pen
Like a needle in a haystack, we ain't tryna see the 'pin'
This is a luxury tax

Yeah, imagine this, no, imagine that
Gave me my sack, like "Good luck getting back"
I'm like, "The fuck I'm gon' hide it at?"
And if I'm not careful, be the same place they find it at
And I'm a winner, if I make it across the finish line
Puttin' food on the table like it's dinner time
And this is what you call stereotyping by far
Can you tell me my your dog keep sniffin' my car?
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 cramp, it's lockin' up in no time
More time in the kitchen than I spent in the studio
"Gangsta's Paradise", and I ain't talkin' 'bout Coolio
Can't lie, still addicted to the odour
Got a ice cold Pepsi, still thinkin' Coca-Cola

I'm up early in the morning and I'm dressed in black
Hold on, every morning I get dressed in black
While y'all half-ass, nigga my pants saggin'
I'm gettin' money and my swag, black-flaggin'
Million dollar status, fully automatic
Heavy on the Henny, even harder on the women
If it wasn't for Reverend, I'd probably be pimpin' and shit
Pops, my papi, is already in me
I tried trappin', shit sent me to prison
Got mad and went to snappin', so homicide came to visit
I smell gun powder, so you got one hour
To come up with every damn dollar; or you're done, dollar
It costs to ball, dog
Especially when the players on your team consider you as the ball hog
You treat me like Shaq, and you Kobe
But I ain't say you owe me, nigga
But act like you know me, nigga

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