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)