Artist: Rick Ross
Album:  Deeper Than Rap
Song:   Mafia Music
Typed by: kirenamloh@msn.com

[Rick Ross]
Yeah...
I got a feelin nigga, really that my money be the root
Look up at the stars, she like, "Honey, where the roof?"
Pull up, hear the dogs, canarie, they goin woof
Even once had a job pourin tar up on a roof
Dat boy had it hard, no facade, it's the truth
So now when I manage and get massaged it's the proof
Proof's in the pudding and that baking soda takin
Paper that'll make her gotta take them photos naked
Listenin to niggaz like whistlin at Wendy Williams
I flip my middle finger, I'm chillin on twenty million
The rumors turn me on, I'm masturbatin at the top
These hoes so excited, so they catchin every drop
I'm dodgin debacles like potholes in Jamaica
We cut down the weed, bury the paper on the 'maicas
Martin had a dream, Bob got high
I still do both but somehow I got by
Creflo prayed, Mike Vick payed
Bobby Brown stray, Whitney lost weight
Kimbo Slice on the pad when I write
Dat Mayweather +money+ lookin funny in the light
But who realy cares? We just throw it in the air
Celebratin wealth, pourin Moet in her hair
Excuse me, her weave, the blue is for weed
Trunk full of white, car smell like blue cheese
Dat bwoy get salad, beef bowel movements
BM dubs on them big thangs lookin foolish
Shawty sittin low, +Big Thangs Poppin+
+Tip+ on the glock from a Crip up in Compton
Shootin at the cops, fuck one-time
I gave her to the block, I fucked one time
We +Boys N the Hood+ and nigga you lil' Tré
So press ya appetite, we takin ya lil' tray
Love my handgun, but my choppa still the shit
Banned in nineteen nintey fo' but I'm "2 Legit 2 Quit"
1996, kilos was the shit
but that was better than roofin, that shit be bad fo' ya skin
Niggaz was ruthless, Lord knows that I sin
But I thought about my future and the loops I could pin
Walked out on the gig and I turned to the streets
Kept my name low-key, I ain't heard from in weeks
I came up wit a strategy to come up mathematically
I did it for the city but now EVERYBODY MAD AT ME!
Motherfuck 'em all, they sweat from my balls
If I drop another album, I did that for my dawgs
Ten Maybachs errbody ridin big
I just sit back like {LOOK WHAT I DID}
Then I bow my head and beg for forgiveness
Once I said my prayer, everybody back to business
Smokin on a blunt in my own restaurant
People lookin from a distance think I'm Big Daddy Kunk
Reincarnated, spirit of a G
Beef I'll make you dinner, take a seat so we could eat
A Farrakhan aura, pause on the pork
You eat from the bowl, while your dog need a fork
Niggaz ain't loyal, snakes slithered in they coil
I'm laughin at you cuz, kill you niggaz when I'm bored (yeah!)
We steppin on you +Crew+ 'til them motherfuckers +Crush+
and makin sweet love to every women dat ya lust
I love to pay ya bills, can't wait to pay ya rent
Curtis Jackson baby mama, I ain't askin for a cent
Burn the house down (nigga), you gotta buy another
Don’t forget the gas can, jealous stupid motherfucker
To another chapter, paper that I captured
Caught up in the rapture off gunshots and laughter
Homicide is humor and nigga you lookin funny
Women love to stare 'cause they know dey see the money
I open up her mind by openin bank accounts
Deposit a hunnid stacks, break-up, won't take it out
Baby that's a gift, maybe you could live
I knew it wouldn't work but, I just like to give
Used to run the street, young nigga bare feet
Now I'm in the suites and I'm eatin crab meats
Ice so right, other rappers envy
They callin all my jewelers up, askin what he spendin (whaaat?)
Thinkin 'bout BOSS, not thinkin bout dem
This a letter to my enemies, one I won't send
Amen