[Intro: Rick Ross]
Coast to coast instrumental
Red and blue what it do I see you
Chi-town all my GD’s it ain’t nothing but love n***a
Maybach music is deeper than the rap n***a

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Millionaires
I don’t know Murs but I know birds
I bet a new firs that I know all you n***as first
Fake tough guys it ain’t even in your blood
Sex money murder all them n***as give me love
Out in Chi-town all them G’s get cabbage
Just indicted dough gave ‘em king pin status
Shittin’ on these rappers undercover faggots
And I brought some work with me for the questions they keep askin’
Masarati blue it match the denim in the fashion
Make haters smile but that mack 11 laughin’
Fuck a few stars
Fuck a few celebs
Fuck it fly a coast
Baby we the best
Hoes wanna text
I never wanna talk
Got the burner in the winter in the middle of New York
Better hear the facts cause it’s deeper than the rap
I got people that eat your way cheaper than this stack
Mob threshold
See the dress code
I don’t say shit twice
I’m Marc Ecko
I’m so Complex
And there’s no contest
I sold fake dope in my own complex
Before ya a star better come and join the mob
You know the rules wack a n***a and you get a newer car
Ya girl wanted bling but ya girl just a fling
I’m a boom that boy when that girl was ya thing
Boss
[Verse 2: Mark Ecko]
Breitling flooded links and rings nothing to me
Everyday another hater say what they gonna do to me
Please I’m west chillin’ with my booya trap
N***as scared a who where what
Not ya’ll n***as
Got me fucked up
Benz coup or trucked up
Head shoota run up on ya point blank buck buck
Fuck a blog my cars a hundred large
Put ya ass in a bag ask if there’s a problem
Boy
I ain’t gotta move a thumb a soo-woo dumbin’ one in the head
I squeeze from ya neck down numbin
I gotta deal now
Told my young boy I hope my steal down
Started with a steer down
Ended up front page everybody stomped in the warehouse
My alibi Ross told the courts know my whereabouts
Feared by many loved by few
I’m blazin Bentley til they get me I don’t care about you bro
I’ma do me if I ain’t squeezin my ass shankin’
I ain’t 50 but that yayo keep my bucks bankin’
That’s the game to precede a new squad
New cash touch my ass lose your arm
Shout out to the homies flaggin’ on the left side
Brought my fortunes to New York villa on the west side
Condo on Miami Beach
Ballin’ like Miami Heat
Everybody know trip you see runnin’ Miami streets
[Gunplay]
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