Verse 1 (Lil Wayne) Fresher than a mothafuckin cocaine pusher Got work under the stairs, got the gun in the bushes Anybody want beef, come and meet the butcher Bring the punk out of a nigga like Ashton Kutcher Fuck you pay me! like nasty hookers I got that recipe they tell me pass the cook book Fuckin wit lil weezy baby thats a good look So hop your ass on the good book and sha mon' I ain't really that nigga that you would want to front on I put ya whole life on ya front lawn .. come on Son on that shit that none on, gun on I can drive the whip and work the tooly while with one arm Thats word to my mom, she worry if I'ma come home I tell her dont trip, I'm runnin this bitch, a nigga just gettin his stunt on Number one stunner junior! hallelujah! fuck ya! I wish I never knew ya! PEACE! Chorus (Rick Ross) I got a bird in the bag, and the bag on my back Got a murder warrant in the magazine on my lap Clear the scene! Clear the scene! Clear the scene Let the g's do they thing X2 Verse 2 Ransom My hustle is gettin gully You fuckers will get it from me I touch 'em with every dummy, my duffel is filled wit money You pop your lip and get ya man shot boy! I make 'em lean and rock like Dem Franchise Boyz! You couldn't joust wit me, nigga there ain't no doubt wit me You run your mouth to me, I go hang you over ya balcony They got it out for me, dont gotta spell it out for me Jersey boy, got the whole city that could vouch for me Dont try to play homie ill pull the eighty out, fade ya out Put what you was thinkin on ya lady blouse This a great rookie, ransom, pray for me Take a chance, put this ape on like a bapes hooded I heard 'em all, murk 'em all wit that dirty four Servin raw, till im thirty four, thats a jersey boy Thats weezy f, ransom, grease yes! Hand guns, bland one, go ahead, bleed to death Chorus Verse 3 Rick Ross I'ma whip that dope like a nigga 'posed to do Hundred thousand dollar whips when the boat roll through Triple c's, my people we triple g's, while you looking all crooked, my niggas they quick to squeeze! Slap you with the four five, bitch who you rapping bout When it come to weight, when I rick ross max it out I'm the one that they askin bout, in the aston martin, weed sparkin, flickin ashes out Rick Ross will never ask you out When I get your number I'ma come and hunt your fuckin mouth You gotta suck dick, if you wanna touch chips ?? 3 5 7 can't touch this I-9 5, I traffic my body weight, in the big body benz, got the whole body laid straight! You straight!? I hope ya ass is I'll leave ya ass as is Chorus
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