[Lil Wayne:]
I think we got a problem
Yeah...

[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]
Big money in this bitch if you didn't knew
Big business minus the business suit
Even I look in the mirror like is it you
And I say I must be the hottest if it isn't you
Stay fresh from my top to my tennis shoes
New coop, no top, big tennis shoes
Never slipped, not even on the side of a swimming pool
We don't get ridiculed,
We get rid of fools
They said I couldn't play football I was too small
They say I couldn't play basketball I wasn't tall
They say I couldn't play baseball at all
And now everyday of my life I ball!
And they say it ain't raining until someone assassinate,
And I feel like MLK
Yeah... I have a dream to be your worst nightmare,
And now meet the boss of the cartel (Ross!)

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
I'm a seven-nine Satan, sitting on Lorenzzes
And I seem really patient, picture the equation
People taking pictures and they really getting fragrant
Flags down my spaceship, sergeant searching for a fragrance
Yayo, Yayo, he wanna sniff the yayo, flying saucer on the hasa
In the casa just to lay-low
Make more (money man) that the model for the mob
Need a blow-job my model, get a model for the job
Go hard, no job, hustler, no prob, poster,
Nigga what finger fuck you whole squad.
Forty around spending doe, flipping for my kin 'fo
Let you raid tax on them packs if you didn't know
Bought a new crib, niggas feeling like I hid
3.2 but I just did it for the kids
More guns than a pawn shop,
Got my whole arm rocked.
Keep the 760 double parked in the wrong spot

Still hustling...
Boss!

[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
Yeah... You gotta pay for this,
I remember when I used to pray for this
This, this is classic,
So this shit you might never see again
And we taxin', you don't want it nigga leave it then,
And we taxin', you don't want it nigga leave it then
And we ain't trying to see the pen,
Like a needle in a hay stack we ain't trying to see the pen
This is a luxury tax

[Verse 3: Young Jeezy]
(I don't ask them baby I just tax em baby)
(Let's go)
Yeah imagine this,
No imagine that
Gave me my sack like, good luck getting back (Yeah)
I'm like how the fuck I'm gonna get outta there
And if I'm not careful,
Leave em the same place they find him there
And I'm a winner if I make it cross the finish line,
Putting food on the table like it's dinner time
And this is what you call stereotyping about?
Can you tell me my your dog keep sniffing my car?
Huh? Got the audacity to call me a liar
So what you got in your trunk?
Oh, just a spare tire
You niggas talked blow,
While I sold mine
Like a bad crape, it's locking up in no time
More time in the kitchen then I spent in the studio,
Case paradise and I ain't talking about Coolio
Can't lie, still addicted to the odor
Got a ice cold Pepsi,
But still thinking Coke-Cola

Hahaha...

[Chorus]

[Verse 4: Trick Daddy]
I'm up early in the morning, and I'm dressed in black
Hold on, every morning I get dressed in black
While your half ass looking at my pants sagging,
I'm getting money, and my swaging and black flagging
Million dollar status, fully automatic
Heavy on the henny and even harder on the women
If it wasn't for reverend,
I probably would pimpin' and shit
Pops, my papai, has already hear me
Tied trapping, shit sent me to prison,
Got mad and went to savage so homicide came to visit
I smell gun powder,
So you got one hour to come up with every damn dollar,
Or your dun-dolla
It cost a ball dogg,
Especially when the players on your team,
Consider you as the ball hog.
You treat me like Shaq,
And you Kobe but I didn't say you owe me nigga
But act like you know me nigga

[Chorus]

Writer : JENKINS, JAY / CARTER, DWAYNE / YOUNG, MAURICE / GRADNEY, JR. / OLIVER, DAVID / ROBERTS, WILLIAM
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.