Saturday, January 7, 2012

Rick Ross - F-ck Em Lyrics (Ft. 2 Chainz & Wale)

F-ck Em Lyrics by Rick Ross Ft. 2 Chainz & Wale

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
C-note after c-note, put the remix on my kilo
Thought I wouldn't make it, now I'm winning -- Timothy Tebow
Fourth quarter, I'm back; fourth quarter, in fact
Fourth quarter, that's that; fourth Ward in all black
I said boss and I meant that; advance, you spent that
Corvette so clean you'll think Bruce Springsteen rent that
Cars just like sneakers, just got me ten pair
Dubai, I been there -- but fuck that, we in here
Roll up and inhale, I live next to Denzel
Alonzo, my condo cost three mil', this shit real
IPhone and iPad, Amex in my gat
Left hand got ten bands; back pocket, four stacks
All I need is bad hoes, all these niggas gon' rat
Half these niggas working now, they knocked it down, they're going back
All I need is Benzos, riding on Lorenzos
Stack my money tenfold, make this my new ten-four

[Hook: Rick Ross]
Fuck em, fuck em, I'm screaming fuck em
Fuck em, fuck em, I'm screaming fuck em
Fuck all you haters
Watch me fuck all these bitches
I got eight different Rollies
And they all mint condition

I'm screaming fuck em, fuck em, I'm screaming fuck em
Fuck em, fuck em, I'm screaming fuck em
I got five different Benzes
This is my deposition
I'm screaming, "Fuck every witness"
Cause bitch, I'm big business
I'm screaming fuck em

[Verse 2: 2 Chainz]
Me gon hit my boast
Me gon hit my boast
What you know about walking in the Gucci store and they salute?
Chain cost a coupe, coupe cost a crib
Riding with the chopper like it's my friend
This for real niggas only, I still bail with Kobe
Got a sign in my garage that say, "Foreign only"
Forces pouring, on mixtapes I'm touring
See my shit that fire shit, and yo' shit boring
2 Chainz smoking loud like it's a newborn
Dad wasn't around -- my father figure was Too Short
New Porsche deuced up, two cups got juice in it
Two forks, two pipes, I could whip it both-handed
My girl is bow-legged, just do it like Bo Jackson
Every beat I'm toe-tagging, tune big as a Volkswagon
Money got me sagging, it really doesn't matter
I run circles round these niggas' world like Saturn


[Verse 3: Wale]
Black Foamposites, it's like we on that outer shit
Riding five deep and I'm as dirty as them congressmen
Sixty-two, without no tint; mission roof of my new shit
Ironic sense -- my drive increased, my driver see the profit
Yeah, word, fuck you niggas, pay me though
Smoke that Mark McGwire strong
Oakland ain't no basic smoke
Shout-out to your lady, a.k.a. MMG favorite ho
Tell that ass the way to go before I show her where to go
No Canseco, and I'm switching lanes at one six oh
A nigga trees fine -- a police siren!
Woop woop -- nah, that's just Diplo
And you cute, shorty; let's get low
On the low, I'mma talk that jazz
Jungle fever for the night
Horny or white, that's Anglo-Sax