Rick Ross - Maybach Music

What is this? Maybach music

I like this Maybach music

Sweet!

Ha ha ha!



Come and take a ride

Come and take a ride



Billionaire

Yayo

Justice League



57 years, yes!

Blood for a D-Boy

Hand my mack 11 to the engineer to record

Got the baddest women in the world for me to feed on

Double deck yacht, docked Boss, blowing weed up



Revenue incredible, it put me on a pedestal

Columbia to Mexico, I figure there was a better route

Look at me, a model now

Models and bottles 'round

A Blood holla', ballin
But the boys in blue, they shot 'em down



Gang-affiliated, colors prosecutors painted

'Cause the niggas I employed, name synonymous with Mi-Yayo

Instrumental that are mental, Maybach kind of mental

400 off the lot, the block is monumental



Some things your money can't buy

Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride

In the rear, so many instruments I hear

Tucked behind curtain, no sign to fear, Ross!

I'm higher than a leer

This Maybach music, designer shit I wear

May cause you to lose it



Close your eyes and inhale the smoke

It's Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote, nigga

5 ounces, take a toke

Of this Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote

Boss!



Young!

Fuck it then!



Black Maybach, white seas, black piping

Remind me of Paul McCartney and Mike fighting

You know, The Girl Is Mine

Life's A Bitch, so The Whole World Is Mine

The six-deuce long, the curtains are drawn

Perfectly like a Picasso, Rembrandts and Rocco's

I'm a major player, 40-40's in Vegas at the Palazzo

They said it was not so



Certain things that money can't buy

Like being this fly
'Til then, I'm just gonna' ride

I'm like G-Rap with better transportation

On the road to the riches, reach my Final Destination

And the lair, closer to a leer

Say a Prayer, hope I get ta' see her

When I disappear from here, baby, yeah



But I don't see the ending through these millionaire lenses

Just the Two M's on the emblem

The partition roof, translucent and Humador

Where refrigerators, where Ace of Spades, or two I store



True story, my closet is like two stories

Straight to the happy ending, 'cause I don't do stories

Shawn Corey, real rap

The Maybach is bananas, peel back

You feel that?

Young! C'mon!



Realest shit I ever wrote, chillin' in my Maybach

8-track episodes, been doing this since way back

Since way back, since way back

8-track episodes, been doing this since way back!

Realest shit I ever wrote, chillin' in my Maybach

8-track episodes, been doing this since way back

Since way back, since way back

8-track episodes, been doing this since way back!



Boss!

Can't be stopped now

We got too much cake



They pinching pennies, while I'm muscling for meals

And that muscle be that muzzle, when I stuff it in your grill

Stuffed shells, thanks to crack, I crack

Crab and lobsters, not all mobsters

Imposters, got cha!



Boy, I got an eagle view, slanted on my balcony

Can only stay a week or two, so many people out for me

I bulletproofed the Maybach

Got a killer's intuition

Holding on that mack 11, Machiavelli premonition



Waiting on my Suge Knight

One nation under God, since I chose a thug's life

Guess I gotta play my part

Never will I die, my name symbolize

The hustle for young killers coming from the other side



Some things your money can't buy

Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride

I'm large, my black car

Menagin' black broads, massage for frauds

I'm livin' large, my fat rocks

I see the kill in the field of hip-hop

Runnin' up on the car, you get popped, mopped and dropped

I'm the Boss!