Rick Ross, BENNY THE BUTCHER - Rapper Estates

[Intro: Rick Ross]
I pray for us all,
In the immortal words of the brother Malcolm X.
Yo, yo, yo!
(Maybach Music)

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Backs against ropes, win a case,
Then it's back to bein' broke, I know the place,
Where the rats and the roaches would race,
Now it's rap niggas' smoke-filled estates.
Who envisioned my initials in the gates?
Confidential but these bitches know they place,
Count C-notes, kilos like I'm cuttin' cakes,
Even Janet Reno know a nigga race.
Prince appeal, poppin', sippin' purple rain,
Ask me how I feel, I tell you I no longer feel the pain,
Kill the game, that's three hundred for the chain,
And it don't include the charm just to show you who the king.
Hundred cars just to show you we at odds,
Let's begin to have you dress to your weed in cigars,
Stay on the phone, but I limit all remarks,
Just remember we the mob and regarded as a god!
They want informants on the clique side,
They wanna know how low the bricks fly,
They wanna know a nigga dick size,
Even though they know I'm livin' big time.
Biggest,
It's incredible.

[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher]
Yo, I came home with a connect and got started abruptly,
That's five figures off a chick and I bought her Kentucky.
We did that twice, then invested in artists that's hungry
To change a young nigga life and launder the money, wait!
No handouts, I'm goin' on three summers legit,
Machine, Cutter, and West, and me, each one of us rich.
Before I did it, they ain't know these numbers exist,
A nigga left the plug, then blew up three hundred to six, hmm.
Yeah, Forgiatos veerin', smokin' while I'm steerin',
I don't gotta pick these hoes, they volunteerin',
Jump out, diamonds glarin', flexin', why they starin'?
I know you wanna take it, so that's why I wear it,
I heard they wanna know how much the clique makin',
In this book of life, you can't skip pages,
Got my strip quakin' off a wrist, takin' big paper,
I'm really in the field, you just Skip Bayless, ah!

[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
It's incredible, huh,
Been a baller but you never been a base,
Just a casket for kilo in a crate,
Pray for pastors trapped outside of the gates.
Young bastards never tappin' the brakes,
Dumb rappers never ownin' the tapes,
Just tools and afterparties to make,
More beefs and dirty bitches to chase,
New shoes, expensive cars to race,
Big homes, just pay 'em off at a pace,
I threw in the elevators and sat 'em right on a lake,
Been in moments the business was at a break,
I'm at the fork in the road, which way, Hov or Ma?
New crib, now add up all of the bills,
The niggas you wanna kill, another slice of the cake,
More ice and wiretaps from Vice,
Rep double M, they wanna lead a double life.
Whack a nigga, need no receipts,
Clap a nigga, leave him on the seat,
Rappers always seem to be the wannabes,
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be.

[Outro: Rick Ross]
Rappers always seem to be the wannabes,
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be!
Maybach Music!