เนื้อเพลง Murda Mami - Rick Ross

[Intro]
Yeah! Pussies don't get p*ssy
Brooklyn (uh-huh)

[Rick Ross]
Kinda short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil' b*tch
Be up in all them clubs spillin Dom P and sh*t
Know the boy stunt, Jonathan Kelsey clutch
Yves Saint Laurent fronts on her bags to the pumps
D's love her aura, Balenciago fedora
Lame n*ggaz bore her, struttin like she Kimora
She'll take a kilo and stuff it up in the coochie
Quicker than Ron[?], stash it between her coochie (ha ha)
Breeze through the hood, n*ggaz treat her like a O.G.
First b*tch in the hood, with the Bentley Coupe GT (yes)
Brooklyn is the team, Alexander McQueen
Bustin down a bird and balance it with a beam
Five five, slanted eyes, b*tch walk is mean
Mahushi Ron bracelets and Armani jeans
They're called skinny, my b*tch is like a rasta with it
Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it

[Chorus 2X: Foxy Brown]
It's like damn, b*tch, n*ggaz lovin me now
Oh-nine Bonnie & Clyde doin it now - whoa
Murder murder, these b*tches ain't never heard of
Gettin money, gettin hurt up, impatient to leak them burners[?]

[Foxy Brown]
Aiyyo Ross, send them b*tches to the boss
The blood claat flyest bad b*tch in New York
Y'all hoes better bow the f*ck down and pay homage
I'm ten million sold and that's SoundScan knowledge
And all y'all rat b*tches sound garbage
While me and Ross like the hood version of bombings
Bars give me style like when you steppin in my [?]
The 38 special in my Chanel sock
Now I got the llama and Ermet's dark
Word to sly swifter fox [?] who above me?
[?] say hello in pumps, Nickelus Curt with that bomb
So ladies raise your glass to this man song

[Chorus]

[Rick Ross]
Money ain't a thing, just look at my pinkie rings
So many numbers in the bank, sh*t could never be the same
Tall four Velours, withdrawals by Michael Kors
And I watch a pretty penny I'm talkin hundred or more
My critique for 'leet, not for the cheap
And my money in the street way longer than my receipt
Dealin with the money, no (Monie) all (In The Middle)
I'm dealin with [?] opponents, they gettin riddled
Box n*ggaz up, on the ropes
Louis sneakers, Louis luggage, the colognes and soaks
Smellin like money, my body tatted with hundreds
Oh-nine Bonnie Clyde, gotta live with it like uh

[Chorus]