[Intro: Rick Ross]
All I ever wanted was a kilo
Till they my little n***a with the rico
Fat Trel, Maybach Murda Gang
Mastermind, double M
[Verse 1: Fat Trel]
N***a tell me how you want it with a savage
It get crazy where I'm living it's tragic
If you can take it from my pocket you can have it
You know I got a body bag in the trash
You know I got an old thot you can have
N***a couldn't fuck my old bitch
N***as couldn't eat my old pussy
I'm in the kitchen I could tell you how the stove looking
N***a all I really wanted was the pyrex
A couple hundred body snatchers in the projects
You know my plug stay connected like direct
I'm in Miami my bitches like "where Lebron at?"
I finish fucking her and finish like "where your mom at?"
In front the coppers I got choppers for the combat
Couldn't believe it my n***as say he was sellin' grenades
Keep bullshittin' and ima sit you where the bomb at
D.C. n***a, sittin wrist whip dough
He ain't know a chopper price get this low
See I cop em' in Atlanta bring em' back to Alabama Avenue
And tell them n***as "come and get it let's go"
Fifty in the Mac take em' back to Benning Road
Strippa bitches in my kitchen with the semi's on the floor
All I know I want him dead by tonight
With his head in his lap and his body at the light
Purchase me some Act and I'm a pour me some Sprite
Tell a bitch keep counting till she get the count right
When a bitch finish might purchase her a flight
Might take her whole life
Might fuck her all night
Right, you know I hate to say it twice
But you pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
Pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
Pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
[Chorus: Future]
Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought shit
Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped shit
All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't fuck shit
[Verse 2: Tracy T]
My killas got shooters on shooters
My killas got shooters on shooters
My killas got shooters on shooters
Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang
Knock em down hundred rounds, lotta pounds, kilograms on the ave
How you want it? Quarter thang, half thang, whole slab?
Young Atlanta n***a pull a hammer on ya
Pull up on a n***a in a California
Teach a lame how to flip a couple numbers
Whole summer dope runners getting more commers
Money got me geekin', damn I need more
Alejandro bringin' in them truckloads
Copy that, get racks, n***a ten-four
Choppa bullets just rip a n***a head off
Clip long as a little n***a leg dawg
Empty that and the barrel just smoke
Closed casket, n***a head open
Peel the top back, yeah I’m in the foreign
Wide body and it sittin' on Forgies
Choppa kick like Chuck Norris
Ralph Lauren, my engine full of horses
Aim game insane n***a I’m a marksman
Cocaine white y’all n***as flip porcelain
Blow worth a fortune, million on the fortress
N***as totin' AK’s like they Glock 40’s
[Chorus: Future]
Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought shit
Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped shit
All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't fuck shit
[Verse 3: Meek Mill]
Thirty in the clip catch the whole thing
Feds know a n***a by his whole name
Shoot him in his head for his gold chain
You was running ball, we was sellin' cocaine
Talkin bout you buyin' bricks, n***a you ain't got shit
We was sellin' all them keys, we was like the locksmith
Twenty-Five hundred for the red bottoms
Balmain five bands for the waist n***a
I'm rollin' through my city in a new Rolls Royce
Cheif Keef 300 for the Wraith n***a
A.K, S.K, H.K n***a, three K's like I hate n***as
And I'll put you in your place n***a
You got shoebox money I got a safe n***a holdup
[Chorus: Future]
Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought shit
Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped shit
All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't fuck shit
[Verse 4: Rick Ross]
Automatic pistol on a n***a leather seat
See a bad bitch she my jam of the week
All I ever wanted was a kilo
Till they hit my little n***a with the RICO
Bitches lookin' at me, Keisha look at all this change
It's the heart of war tour bus full of K's
Master P money I could pull up in a tank
C Murda shooter know a pill on the way
Still [?]
Rich n***as coming through you broke n***as better move
At your front door got word you got work
3.5 for the key of the purp
Now six figures for this fat n***as verse
All eyes on me as I'm walking through the church
Prayin' lord forgive me, 30 shots in the semi
I done paid all of my tithes now it's time to go and get it
My new plug don't fuck with the cut
My new bitch gettin' fucked in the butt
Ridin' by the [?] see me sitting in the trunk
N***as say they coming threw but they see me strapped up, what
N***a runnin' in your house for the brown bag
Feds wanna know how much in the brown bag
N***a swinging that stick for the brown bag
Your bitch even saw my number on the brown bag
All I ever wanted was Kilo
Till they hit my lil' woe with the Rico
Sippin' on purp n***as still got a pint
Still moving work n***a ooh what night
Ooh what a night, ooh what a night
Post a picture of that pussy get 200 likes
200 likes all that bitch getting from me is them 200 likes
[Chorus: Future]
Talking 'bout you popping tags, n***a you ain't bought shit
Talking bout a hunned bottles, n***a you ain't popped shit
All you talk nana clips, n***a you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a you ain't fuck shit
