Til We Die

Ft. Rick Ross &

Trey Songz

I got whatever

I signed You wanna hop in, bitch comin’ on

Just have to have your mouth wide

If you know that you plan on coming on

On for what you..

And if you think we’re gonna stop

That’s just absurd

My little finger’s in the sky

Screamin’ fuck a hater til the day a nigga die

Yea, I got ‘em yellin’ “

Oh God, Lord”

Presence fresh, your neck rise, sharp

Tom Ford Fuck

G4s, I charter private

Concords And she through the sky like missiles when they dodge ball

Toast them bottles with the booze

Smell and stink like old money buried in the king’s tomb

When you think we smell funny, certain niggas wanna watch ‘em

When it comes to money

I’m a nose fragrance, watch the flower blossom

When it comes to bread, y’all niggas know it’s me

I articulate beautiful like a poetry

Hoes bring me that paper just like they all in 3’s

Chip ‘em a revenue,

God bless my rosaries

Listen , that’s why your witness and your highness

We’re celebratin’ success and sippin’ on the finest

Most you motherfuckers need to learn to stand behind us

When we come and dismantle you niggas quick and leave you spineless

But that’s for you to dodge us

I got whatever

I signed You wanna hop in, bitch comin’ on

Just have to have your mouth wide

If you know that you plan on coming on

On for what you..

And if you think we’re gonna stop

That’s just absurd

My little finger’s in the sky

Screamin’ fuck a hater til the day a nigga die

She see me stackin’ cheese in my saggy sheets

Silver and

Sela, smokin’ lavender leaf

Yellow Jesus piece,

I still feed the streets

I’m getting score, that

Ferrari seats

Riders at the top, get arrogant on ‘em

Set a bottle off, you can ride if you wanna

My money mandatory, slippy what deposits look

Money green,

Maserati with a body kit

Dead presidents, got my name on the blim

Fast in the residence based on a tip

Playin innocent, the state attorney want a grip

I’ve got enough, get with puff,

I could make a flip

Fuck the charge down for me to top the

Forbes list

I’m a fat boy,

I but ‘em on that poor shit

You see that money?

I’m touchin’ mine

It’s Rosay,

Trey Songz,

Busta Rhymes

I got whatever

I signed You wanna hop in, bitch comin’ on

Just have to have your mouth wide

If you know that you plan on coming on

On for what you..

And if you think we’re gonna stop

That’s just absurd

My little finger’s in the sky

Screamin’ fuck a hater til the day a nigga die

Hand on my heart while giving thanks and continued bustin’ these bottles open

Passin’ the time, securin’ lanes, gurkin’ forgot smokin’

Controllin’ every room when

I enter there start toastin’

Undecided on what to drive, think the garage is open

As we do the impossible

It seems successfully manifestin’ a thought and livin’ out the dream

Leave an unforgettable mark of mud

I be in it like adding a chapter to the

Bible with my blood, listen

Every day is like a weekend

Like we never give a fuck, celebratin’ for no reason

A convoy full of trucks, ain’t no question, we all eatin’

Then it’s silence when

I talk like

I’m hearin’ the

Lord speakin’ now

As they complain about my ways

Cuz I’ll be grindin’, never sleepin’ just be ballin’ on for days

Be fuckin’ every model, every weed in out the strays

And then I’m bouncin’ that

Bugatti slowly totin’ on the haze

Then we pass this shit to

Trey I got whatever

I signed You wanna hop in, bitch comin’ on

Just have to have your mouth wide

If you know that you plan on coming on

On for what you..

And if you think we’re gonna stop

That’s just absurd

My little finger’s in the sky

Screamin’ fuck a hater til the day a nigga die