Tyga, Rick Ross — Dope
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Текст Tyga, Rick Ross — Dope
[Verse 1: Tyga]
T-Raw, rock my own kick game,
Eight figure deal figure,
Now I’m courtside at Clip game;
Still pop Ace, king shit, I’m with rose,
Black Maybach leather gloves on that OJ.
OK, the day you beatin’ me, bitch, no day,
Bandz a make her dance, that’s thousand dollar foreplay;
AK get a full clip not a sound wave,
You kissed her in her mouth, ask how my dick taste?
Bitch n**ga, you don’t want no drama, I’m worth a couple commas,
It’s death before dishonor,
Last king come sign up,
All my shit be disgner;
Extraordinary rhymer,
I bodied yo shit for nothin’.
West up, hot temper,
Get wet up, she give me head, not neck up,
She clean the mess up.
One false move death from gesture,
Cash in the safe, n**ga, I don’t feel no pressure.
[Hook: Tyga — x2]
I’m dope.
All my shit dope,
All my shit dope,
‘Cause it’s 187 how I killin’ these hoes.
[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
Shit, she fuck Hermès and the hustle,
Crown on the watch, she got n**gas still thuggin’,
Eight point seven on the crib so fuck it!
Went gold in a month so it ain’t no budget.
New chains, Rolex links,
New chick just to drag my mink,
New car just to ride around here,
Aviator crew, we flies ‘round here,
Hatin’ on hood n**gas dyin’ ‘round here,
Bath Salt Boss, got insurance on the beard,
Cars rockstars, dope boys at odds,
I done seen it all, but it’s back to these broads.
Hands clap like a n**ga in the stadium,
Million dollar chain, but I’m rockin’ eight of ‘em,
I see you sleepin’, boy, don’t make me pick your label up,
Scottie Pippen on the dribble, I just laid ‘em up.
Another triple got me trippin like it’s angel dust,
We just winnin’ all the women in my table, ha,
Say my name, say my name, n**ga, say my name.
Hundred million dollar n**ga, n**ga, say my name.
[Hook: x2]
[Verse 3: Tyga]
Chief rocka, pill popper,
Tell ‘em pull them things out ‘cause my car topless.
Off topic, get on top it, what’s yo synopsis,
So sincere in her belly, that’s the nah shit.
King announcin’ that gangsta shit, we mobbin’,
We takin’ your dollars, Creflo, no white collar.
I pop pop, wish a n**ga would, Carl Thomas.
Bitch, I’m the bomb, call me the Unabomber,
Money in my game, I’m drivin’ shit, that’s insane,
You n**gas stay in your lane no playin’, ain’t nothin’ changed.
Party is good regime, I make your girl David Blaine,
Murder was the case all the kids say that n**ga T-Raw.
[Hook: x2]
