Tray I see you, Rosay
You know what it is
(Maybach Music)
My attitude is fuck it, house big as Publix
Shopping is a pleasure, pinky ring a nugget
Niggas like the ride, sip lean out the bucket
I lean to the side, white whip Michael Douglas
Hard times, call for drastic measures
I call my dawg, he bought a Mac eleven
Forty rounds hollerin' "where the? at"
Nigga dead serious choppa with a shoulder strap
Microphone Micheal Corleone I know I'm wrong
The man up above love for me to sing them poems
So sing along, you know the song I sing
Bring them things along, I gotta feed the team
It's Rosay, I need a hundred bottles,
Yellow bitches, all of 'em swallow
H town, nigga three o five
I can move them packs, each and every night
Triple black Panamera, Phantom of the streets
Quarterbackin' these bricks on top of these glass cleats
All these stones from my neck and wrist part of the streets?
I'm in the hood under surveillance, buncha haters watchin'
Couple choppas out for dinner failin' ain't an option
Reclinable seats, invisible ceilings
Competition is murder, haters I'm killing
Fuck a money machine, I don't count it I blow it
Bitch my money conceited, it look good when I trow it
I'm a asshole, therefore my temper is reckless
I'm the city of Houston, you can tell I miss Texas
The king of the streets, somewhere deep with gorillas
Behind something that's tinted, bitch you see the gorillas
These other niggas?
And when I seem 'em let's fuck 'em minus the penetration
I'm gettin' situation, I know you bitches hate it
I'm in the new Aston, the one Swiss created
Can't give you a dime, but I can get you faded
Before you become a member, you get initiated
A lot of racks, big ice heavy weapon
The hood still love me cuz I never left 'em
I distributed, yeah, I get rid of it
It's all coming back, every bit of it
I'm territorial, it's your memorial
And don't feel bad, I'm talkin' to all of you
This is real shit, and that's nonsense
I got AK's, I got Thompson's
I got investors, I get sponsors
They scared of the crew, I'm wit monsters
And ain't nothin' for sure but we touchin' the raw
And they gotta let us in or we rushin' the door
