Maybach Music

(album: Trilla - 2008)

Heh, what is this? (Maybach music)
I like this Maybach music
(Sweet!) Hahahaha
Come and take a ride
Come and take a, come and take a ride

[Rick Ross:]
Billionaire, yayo
(J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League)

57, yes, yes, good for a D-Boy
Hand my MAC-11 to the engineer to record
Got the baddest women in the world for me to feed on
Double-deck yacht, docked Boss, blowing weed up
Revenue incredible, it put me on a pedestal
Columbia to Mexico, I figured was a better route
Look at me, a model now, models and them bottles 'round
A Blood holla, "Ballin,'" but the boys in blue, they shot 'em down
Gang-affiliated, colors prosecutors painted
'Cause the niggas I employed name synonymous with mayhem
Instrumentals that are mental, Maybach kind of mental
400 off the lot, the block is monumental (Boss)

Some things your money can't buy
Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride
In the rear, so many instruments I hear
Tucked behind curtain, no sign to fear (Ross)
I'm higher than a Lear, this Maybach music
Designer shit I wear, make hoes lose it (Boss)
Close your eyes and inhale the smoke
It's Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote, nigga
By an ounce, take a toke
Of this Maybach music, the realest shit I wrote
Boss!

[Jay-Z:]
It's Young!
Hahahah, fuck it then

Black Maybach, white seats, black piping
Remind me of Paul McCartney and Mike fighting
You know, "The Girl Is Mine"
Life's a bitch, so the whole world is mine
The six-deuce long, the curtains are drawn
Perfectly like a Picasso, Rembrandts and Rothkos
I'm a major player, 40/40's in Vegas at the Palazzo
They said it was not so

Certain things your money can't buy
Like being this fly, 'til then, I'm just gon' ride
I'm like G Rap with better transportation
On the road to the riches, reach my final destination
In the Lear, closer to Aaliyah, say a prayer
Hope I get to see her when I disappear from here, baby, yeah
But I don't see the ending through these millionaire lenses
Just the two Ms on the emblem
The partition roof, translucent and humidor
Refrigerators, where Ace of Spades or two I store
True story, my closet is like two stories
Straight to the happy ending, 'cause I don't do stories
Shawn Corey, real rap
The Maybach is bananas—peel back

Hahahah, you feel that? Young, c'mon

Realest shit I ever wrote, chilling in my Maybach
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back
Since way back, since way back
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back
Realest shit I ever wrote, chilling in my Maybach
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back
Since way back, since way back
8-track episodes, been doing this since way back

[Rick Ross:]
Boss, can't be stopped now
We got too much cake

They pinching pennies, while I'm muscling for mills
And that muscle be that muzzle, when I stuff it in your grill
Stuffed shells, thanks to crack, I crack crab and lobsters
Not all mobsters imposters, gotcha
Boy, I got a eagle view, standing on my balcony
Can only stay a week or two, so many people out for me
I bulletproofed the Maybach, got a killer's intuition
Holding on that MAC-11, Makaveli premonition
Waiting on my Suge Knight, one nation under God
Since I chose a thug's life, guess I gotta play my part
Never will I die, my name symbolized
The hustle for young killers coming from the other side

Some things your money can't buy
Like Heaven in the sky, even a better ride
I'm large, my black car, menaging black broads
Massage for frauds, I'm living large, my fat rocks
It's eat to kill in the field of hip-hop
Running up on the car, you get popped, mopped and dropped
I'm the boss