Mafia Music 2 Songtext
von Rick Ross feat. Chrisette Michele

Yeah, I got a feelin′ nigga, really that my money be the root
Look up at the stars she like, honey where the roof?
Pull up, hear the dogs, canaries, they go on roof
Even once had a job pourin' tar up on the roof

That boy had it hard, no facade, it′s the truth
So now when I menage and get massaged it's the proof
Proof's in the pudding and that baking soda cakin′
Paper that I′m makin' got her takin′ photos naked

Listenin' to niggas like whistlin′ at Wendy Williams
I flip my middle finger, I'm chillin′ on twenty million
The rumors turn me on, I'm masturbatin' at the top
These hoes so excited, so they catchin′ every drop

I′m dodgin' debacles like potholes in Jamaica
We cut down the weed, bury the paper on them acres
Martin had a dream, Bob got high
I still do both but somehow I got by


Creflo prayed, Mike Vick paid
Bobby Brown straight, Whitney lost weight
Kimbo Slice on da pad when I write
That Mayweather money lookin′ funny in the light

But who really cares? We just throw it in the air
Celebratin' wealth pourin′ Moet in her hair
Excuse me, her weave, the bluest of weed
Trunk full of white, car smell like blue cheese

That boy get salad, beef bowel movements
BMWs on them big thangs lookin' foolish
Shawty sittin′ low big thangs poppin'
Tip on the Glock from a Crip up in Compton

Shootin' at the cops, fuck one-time
I gave her to the block, I fucked one time
We Boyz N the Hood, and nigga, you lil′ Tre
Suppress ya appetite, we takin′ ya lil' tray

Love my handgun, but my choppa still the shit
Banned in 1994, but I′m "2 Legit 2 Quit"
1996, kilos was the shit
But that was better than roofin', that shit be bad for ya skin


Niggas was ruthless, Lord knows that I sinned
But I thought about my future and the loops I could pin
Walked out on the gig and I turned to the streets
Kept my name low key I ain′t heard from in weeks

I came up with a strategy to come up mathematically
I did it for da city but now everybody mad at me
Mothafuck 'em all, they sweat from my balls
If I drop another album, I did that for my dawgs

Ten Maybachs everybody ridin′ big
I just sit back like, look what I did
Then I bow my head and beg for forgiveness
Once I said my prayer, everybody back to business

Smokin' on a blunt in my own restaurant
People lookin' from a distance think I′m Big Daddy Conch
Reincarnated, spirit of a G
Beef I′ll make you thinner, take a seat so we can eat

A Farrakhan aura, pause on the pork
You eat from the bowl, while your dog need a fork
Niggas ain't loyal, snakes slithered and they coil
I′m laughin' at you cuz, kill you niggas when I′m bored

We steppin' on you crew ′til them motherfuckers crush
And makin' sweet love to every women that ya lust
I love to pay her bills can't wait to pay her rent
Curtis Jackson, baby mama, I ain′t askin′ for a cent

Burn the house down nigga, you gotta buy another
Don't forget the gas can, jealous stupid motherfucker
To another chapter, paper that I captured
Caught up in the rapture off gunshots and laughter

Homicide is humor and nigga you lookin′ funny
Women love to stare 'cause they know they see the money
I open up her mind by openin′ bank accounts
Deposit a 100 stacks break-up, won't take it out

Baby that′s a gift, maybe you could live
I knew it wouldn't work but I just like to give
Used to run the street, young nigga bare feet
Now I'm in the suites and I′m eatin′ crab meats

Ice so right, other rappers envy
They callin' all my jewelers up, askin what he spendin′
Thinkin' ′bout Boss, not thinkin' ′bout them
This a letter to my enemies, one I won't send
Amen