[Intro: Rick Ross]
Ricky Ross, Raekwon the Chef
Thrill 5 M-I-A, yo
Ya'll know what time it is (trilla) boss
[Rick Ross]
When I'm in the crib (crib), know what time it is (is)
I'm trying to get a mill (mill), so money I can feel (feel)
Fuck a bank account (boss) keep my money in bags (bags)
If you coming here funny, I'm gunning your ass
Nigga, take a look at me, Ross, tell me what's fucking funny (funny)
Bitch, I'm a top shotter (shotter), see all the macks, gunny
Now I'm the pacman, I keep the packs coming
And I got a whole lot, so when that shack coming, baby
I can hold mine, or I can pitch back
Or I can run an option, get it popping, whip that
All my Cuban links, still rocking they Cuban Linx
And they ready to swim, give me the cuban six
I got it orchestrated, cuz I'm a communist
Running for the charms, some left on the wrist
My nigga Raekwon, yeah, he the fucking Chef
So what we cook in the kitchen, he taste the fucking best
[Chorus: Polite]
Nigga, I'm a boss, you can catch me with the top knocked off
In the trap, getting blocks knocked off
Cuz, nigga, I'm a boss, and I'mma show these niggas I ain't gotta talk
I got a chaffeur, nigga, I ain't got to walk
Cuz, nigga, I'm a boss, cross the line, pay the fine top cost
Lose your mind when the nine pop off
Cuz, nigga, I'm a boss, I'm a boss, I'm a boss
Cuz, nigga, I'm a boss, I'm a boss, I'm a boss
[Raekwon]
You know we rich, Rick, my vultures, they get dip, we posting
It's in motion, when that blow come, we flip-flip
Can't take us nowhere, pa, too many spaceships
Lay in the open, new Nike's with glaciers
Love robbing niggas, cracking heads open
It's like tennis, pa, I'm like Venus with the legs smoking
Piping hot heroes, gun deleros, new Aston
Sky blue jammy, skating on zeros
Shorts on, tree lance, cable on, hang to my navel
Diamond down, smoking cheeba, Grey Goose
Dreaming bout lasagna, the beat watery
Half glass of Whiskey, fly light skin little shorty
All my bitches they bang, it's obvious, we be the Gods
Rep me and my mobster sang
We monsters, rocket launchers, razor blades
With wands on, shoot up the telly, go bonkers
[Chorus]
[D.C.] (P.C.) {Polite}
Yo, I'm the money collector (for that money I'll stretch ya)
{I flat line you with that gun that's up under my dresser}
I be handling pies (god damn it I'm fly
It's so high, that if I jump I'll land in the sky)
{You ain't pushing no weight} You a pussy you fake
I be cooking that base (Butter just look at they face)
{Lite keep 'em coming back} The Don, keep 'em coming back
(It's the boss and Rick Ross on the fucking track)
