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Rick Ross
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Hey UD What's good my boy? Mister 305 (Yessir) Wade County Sixteen years later We done made history Three rings on our fingers Pockets gettin' fatter (Uh) n***a we gettin' bread I'm the son of a saint, still considered a sinner (Ha) Three rings on his finger, yeah, that boy was a winner (Winner) Never known as a singer but this might be a single (Facts) Always bet on your homies, then go buy the casino (Ballin') Ball is my passion, check my stats if they askin' (Uh) Shawty checkin' my page, she follow my fashion (I'm clean) My life is a film and Gab's the lead She's so precious to me, as the air that I breathe Time to fuel up the jet, D-Wade jersey the drip (Yeah) Lamborghini's to match, got Guccis on the strip (Oh yeah) These haters beneath us as I'm lacin' my sneakers (You dig?) Season sixteen, Lamborghinis and Neimans I'm shootin' my shot (Shot) Every car that I cop (Cop), every record I break (Break) Every rock in my watch (Ah) Every step that I take (Take) Still won't step no mistakes (No) I'm talkin' major league, never minimum wage So proud to be n***as (n***as), the descent of a slave (Uh) Motorcades, silver Mercedes, so get out my way Tangerines, still in my slippers, still twistin' up dank Shed a tear for all my homies, Black Bo and E. Gates Let's find a masseuse, then inspire the youth If it's best for the hood, then let's call it a truce My chains get tangled (Tangled), these n***as be hateful (Hate) My momma still prayin' (Prayin'), so really I'm grateful (Maybach Music)
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