Mafia Music III

[Produced by Bink!] [Verse 1: Rick Ross] My corner so polluted, young niggas lootin' I studied Kenneth Williams, I'm one hell of a student Remarkable hustle, my niggas comin' home I kept the candle lit, my nigga never rowed Niggas caught him slippin', gave him a shit bag Five shots to the stomach, 2Pac gift pack It's death row, conspiracy theories Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury Get some money now, you hated by your own kind The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline GABOS, game ain’t based on sympathy So he put a hit on his cousin and auntie Her sweet potato pies, oh me, oh my Showin' no remorse, watchin the others cry Heroin sales, detectives'll sell A lot of yellow tape, where that Obama care? This the mob, bitch, silk underwear Yeezy concerts, Kim Instagrams Niggas hatin', though they studied my moves I'm like Farrakhan, in view of hundreds of Jews Two attempts on my life, they threatened venues Can't you see what I am? The hustle continue I bought more jewels, I ordered the Wraith I got a new style of shoes, match the watch in the face Bill Belichick, coachin' and callin' the shots Throw a yellow flag, pussy nigga body drops Then we celebrate, black bottles pop Time to elevate, we re-open shop Wale a genius, Meek Mill a superstar My new crib in Phoenix, ten car garage Patek Philippe, platinum Audemars Ain't no tags needed, nigga, I own them cars I know them bitches, we met them broads Never loved one, fucked them all I'm a fuckin' dog, Ricky fuckin' Ross Nigga, Birkin bags just for my runner-ups But my main bitch she get the main dish Not the old range, that was a lame bitch Brazilian weave, she say I came quick I let her see a hundred ki's, a gift from St. Nick Movin' bricks like it's Black Friday She gotta fuck me or call me a fat crybaby Lookin' over my shoulder, I can't trust a soul Bought a spot in Anguilla just for me and my ho Glock .40, even when I shower Chrome .22 in my swimmin' towel Mob ties and I pray the music set me free May the powers that be better let me be [Chorus: Mavado] Ya better not be around when the sun goes down And the real, real killers them out for ya It's gonna be be a bloodshed One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed Gun- gunshot inna head [Verse 2: Mavado] Payback is a motherfucker Yes I feel it when I squeeze the trigger I feel the air when my enemies die I feel the strength of ten killer What is to be will be Only God alone can kill me ‘Cause these fuckin' streets filthy And I ain't fuckin' guilty [Verse 3: Sizzla] Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die Guns go off, or so we say Murderation, anywhere Gangsta no take no chat from no guy, know why? Violate a gangsta and bullets fly, bwoy die Guns go off, or so we say Murderation, anywhere [Chorus: Mavado] Ya better not be around when the sun goes down And the real, real killers them out for ya It's gonna be be a bloodshed One buss, one dead, it's gonna be a bloodshed Gun- gunshot inna head [Outro: Sizzla] Sizzla Kolanji and Rick Ross have the girls them screaming Entire country, every street lab, you already know the meaning Born ah stream and me go in clean, you can't diss me you must be dreaming Jamaicans, let them know we carry the team in Bu'n 'Paya!