Perfectionist

[Intro] M-M-Maybach Music [Verse: Rick Ross & Meek Mill] Hustle out of necessity, father never corrected me Streets showed me no sympathy, Audemar my accessory, huh Never accurate, I'm aiming at your Acura, yeah Heart rate accelerate on other amateurs And I murder anything in my parameter If they disrespect us we slide on them like a banister Dodging fed cameras, balling like fuck stamina Block doing numbers, I graduated to manager Bricks in the Maybach, bricks in the Escalade Bricks on Brickell, we got bricks in the Bay San Fran bricks, got bricks in L.A Publisher watch the money, I got bricks on this plane And my nigga Brick on his way, just did a dime for a brick of the Yay' I'm switching up my bricks like my kicks with my lay Rule number one, never keep them bricks where you stay All my women photogenic they never depreciate Pop up in ya city, it's strictly about the cake Quarters to half's on my road to the riches All real niggas just playing different positions Ross gon be the quarterback, I'mma run this quarter back Feds try to intercept a nigga like a corner back Make a nigga pay a couple birds to get his daughter back Get the dirty money, clean it all up at the Laundromat I'm allergic to failure, heroin paraphernalia Frank Lucas furs at the fight on my cellular Ball like Mayweather, Don King at the register I stack chedder, it's etcetera, etcetera I'm addicted to winning, pretty women and spinnin' Ferragamo and linen, a nigga start and he finish D.A. label me menace, mama call me a king So therefore I'm dropping soon like Tyson was in the ring hah Coca-cola minx, Canary yellow stones I'mma stunt if it mean I gotta break a bone Me and Meek Milly in the hood on chrome Double-M G and we 20 million strong Don't matter if it's chess or checkers cause it's all blocks (bricks) I'm in this 911 Porsche with a bald spot No roof, fresh off the car lot And we don't call cops nigga, we just call shots Fuck the competition I bury the cock-a-roaches Faint when you see what I pull up out the holster Can't even breath, remember what yo mama told ya We the real g's and the well paid soldiers So if you niggas scared, call the feds up We taking over I'm just giving niggas heads up We shoot 'em down, just to let 'em know we dead up 8 figure nigga, tell the labels, give that bread up MMG, bitch, (Maybach Music), we just do shit like this for no reason (Maybach Music) No pen, no pad flow Wale in the building (Maybach Music)