I pray for us all
In the immortal words of the brother Malcolm X
Yo, yo, yo (M-M-Maybach Music)

Back's against ropes, win the case
Then it's back to bein' broke, I know the place
Where the rats and the roaches would race
Now it's rap niggas' smoke-filled estates
Who envisioned my initials in the gates? (M-M-M)
Confidential but these bitches know they place
Countin' C-notes, kilos like I'm cuttin' cakes
Even Janet Reno know a nigga race
Prince appeal poppin', sippin' Purple Rain
Ask me how I feel, I tell you I no longer feel the pain
Kill the game, that's three-hundred for the chain
And it don't include the charm just to show you who the king
Hunnid cars just to show you we at odds
That's beginnin' how you dress to your weed and cigars
Stay on the phone but I limit all remarks
Just remember, we the mob and regarded as a God
They want informants on the click side (click side)
They wanna know how low the bricks fly (bricks fly)
They wanna know a nigga dick size (dick size) (check one, two, one, two)
Even though they know I'm livin' big time (big time)
Biggest (yeah) (M-M-M)
It's incredible

Yo, I came home with a connect and got started abruptly
That's five figures off a chicken I bought at Kentucky
We did that twice, then invested in artists that's hungry
Then change a young nigga life and launder the money, wait
No handouts, I'm goin' on three summers legit
Machine, Cutter and West, and me, each one of us rich
Before I did it, they ain't know these numbers exist
A nigga left the plug, then blew up three hundred to six, mmh
Yeah, Forgiatos veerin', smokin' while I'm starin' (while I'm starin')
I don't gotta pick these hoes, they volunteerin' (volunteerin')
Jump out, diamonds glarin', flexin', why they starin'? (Why they starin'?)
I know you wanna take it, so that's why I wear it
I heard they wanna know how much the clique makin'
In this book of life, you can't skip pages
Got my strip quakin' off a wrist takin' big paper
I'm really in the field, you just Skip Bayless
Ah

It's incredible (huh)
Been a baller but you never been to base
Just a casket for kilo in a crate
Pray for pastors strapped outside of the gates
Young bastards never tappin' the brakes
Dumb rappers never ownin' the tapes (M-M-M)
Just tours and afterparties to make
More beefs and dirty bitches to chase
New shoes, expensive cars to race
Big Combs, just pay 'em off at a pace
I threw in the elevators and sat 'em right on the lake
Been in moments the business was at a break
I'm at a fork in the road, which way, Hov or Ma$e?
New crib, now add up all of the bills
The niggas you wanna kill, another slice of the cake
More ice and wiretaps from Vice
Rap, double M, they wanna lead a double life
Whack a nigga, need no receipts
Clap a nigga, leave 'em on the seat
Rappers always seem to be the wannabes
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be

Rappers always seem to be the wannabes
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be
(M-M-Maybach Music)

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Anderson Hernandez, Jeremie Scorpio Pennick, Matthew Samuels, Rick Ross, Scotty L. Coleman