Rick Ross, Styles P - B.M.F. (Blowin' Money Fast)

[Intro: Rick Ross]
We blowin' money fast on this side, n**ga,
Catch up, n**ga!

[Chorus: Rick Ross]
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
My Rolls Royce triple black, I'm geechee, ho!
Ballin' in the club, bottles like I'm Meech, ho!
Rozay, that's my nickname,
Cocaine runnin' in my big vein.
Self-made, you just affiliated,
I build it ground up, you bought it renovated,
Talkin' plenty capers, nothing's been authenticated,
Funny you claimin' the same bitch that I'm penetratin'.
Hold the bottles up, where my comrades?
Where the fuckin' felons? Where my dogs at?
I got that Archie Bunker,
And it's so white, I just might charge you double.

[Chorus: Rick Ross]
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
These motherfuckas mad that I'm icy,
Stunt so hard make them come at me,
I think I'm Big Meech, look at my timepiece,
It's another mere, hundred racks at least.
Look at yourself, now look at me,
You can't see a n**ga, I'm what you used to be,
Look at it this way, you n**gas sideways,
Always gettin' money, my n**ga, crime pays,
So fuck a n**ga, I'm self-made,
You a sucker n**ga, I'm self-paid,
This for my broke n**gas, this for my rich n**gas,
Got a hundred on a head of a snitch n**ga.

[Chorus: Rick Ross]
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!

[Verse 3: Styles P]
The thirty-six holes leave you bleedin', fam,
Word to them, thirty-six O's in a kilogram,
Blunt tip orange like caviar,
Wildin' out, fishtailin', Subaru rally car.
Out the passenger lettin' the automatty off,
A egg of that girl, I'll knock ya mommy and ya daddy off,
Fuck around and knock the emblem on the Caddy off,
Four shooters buggin' out, blickin' at ya Caddy doors.
And did I mention guns from Red Dead Redemption?
Nine mils, fifty clip extensions,
Coke is like a mattress in the hood, I'm flippin' on it,
And the money's like a chair, I'm sittin' on it.

[Chorus: Rick Ross]
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!
I think I'm Big Meech, Larry Hoover,
Whippin' work, hallelujah!
One nation under God,
Real n**gas gettin' money from the fuckin' start!