rick ross - b.l.o.w. (block life is our way) lyrics
[intro]
pusha t:
woman: how do i know daddy this stuff’s goin’ scary
rick ross: yo papo
pusha t: yeah
rick ross: mira, yo papo
pusha t: yo come out n-gga, where you at man?
rick ross: over here yo
pusha t: all right, let’s stop playing games n-ggas
rick ross: i got that stuff man
pusha t: ok cool i want all that sh-t n-gga
rick ross: yo, you can have everything if you want it man
pusha t: ? n-gga, how much n-gga?
rick ross: 3 million b
pusha t: ok. you gotta give me a minute on that ? n-gga
rick ross: ok, no problema
pusha t: yo put all that sh-t in the truck baby
woman: ok daddy
rick ross: mira, mira …
[verse 1: rick ross]
teflon sicker than most, sick-nature flow
i won’t battle for the block rick spit for your coast
i’m handling with narcs they let me sit on the c0ke
godfather in a dark shop mob n-ggas gettin’ the vote
two-piece cufflinks k!lling the coat
on my feet for the baking but i sit with a toast
my women on the b-tch naked or get d-ck in the boat
fresh food in the benz and i’m deepin’ the throat
top down ocean drive and i’m chiefin the drought
start ten top f-ck ’em cuz i’m speaking the coast
second week out, d-mn creepin’ on go
we still deep in the hole, keep d-cks pickin’ on blow
they escorted by the k!llers for that beef on the row
they pretty cheap too get put to sleep at the show
back at the stage i’m conscious with an object in the back of the braze
i master the trade, since back in the day
packin’ the gauge, quit acting afraid
it’s a package exchange, for my n-ggas back in the cl-ssical days
[hook]
up in the block i’m still hustlin’
? fro the streets ??
gettin’ no answer it ain’t nothin’ man
i wasn’t on the go ?? strugglin’
[verse 2: pusha t]
roll with the winners, the soul of the sinners
we drain with ? the limmers
my uncle’s before me
mix the dizzle in the blenders
then crack came i seen the coldest of winters
mountains of snow, may fiend strimmer
minks to the flow we used to crème de la crèmes
such a need to shimmer the benz got the slippers
club owners love us call us yellow bottle grippers
flipper, no whale scale tipper
i’m from the line ex-kingpins to turn sniffers
pray the lord forgive us while the maricons fill us
up to the brim call ’em the coffee bean spillers
blast from us he call keys gods pillows
i re-write bury me in my chinchilla
ain’t non iller no, ain’t non realer
it’s pusha, just your neighborhood dope dealer
[hook]
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