Til We Die (feat. Rick Ross & Trey Songz)

(Dre) Come on!

I got whatever outside

If you wanna hop in, bitch, come and go

Just gotta have your mouth wide

If you don't, bet your friend might come and go

I don't know what you heard

Let's just let's just (Huh? Huh?)

My middle fingers in the sky

Screaming "fuck a hater" 'til the day a nigga die

Yeah, I got 'em yelling "Oh God, Lord!"

Presence fresh, Gillette razor sharp, Tom Ford

Fuck G4's, I charter private Concords

And shoot through the sky like missiles when the don's bored

Ha, toastin' bottles with a boom, smellin' stink like old money

Buried in the king's tomb, when you think we smell funny?

Certain niggas wanna watch 'em when it comes to money

I'm a rose fragrance, watch the flower blossom

Yeah, when it comes to bread, y'all niggas know it's me

I articulate beautiful like I'm poetry

Hoes bring me that paper just like they owing threes

Triple my revenue, God bless my rosaries

Listen, and while you're witnessing your highness

And we're celebrating success and sipping on the finest

Most you motherfuckers need to learn to stand behind us

'Fore we come and dismantle you niggas quick and leave you spineless

Now that's for you to digest

I got whatever outside

If you wanna hop in, bitch, come and go

Just gotta have your mouth wide

If you don't, bet your friend might come and go

I don't know what you heard

Let's just let's just (Huh? Huh?)

My middle fingers in the sky

Screaming "fuck a hater" 'til the day a nigga die

She see me stacking cheese in my satin sheets

Silver SLR, smoking lavender leaf

Yellow Jesus piece, I still feed the streets

I'm getting skull in Ferrari seats

Might unzip the top, get arrogant on 'em

Set a bottle off, you can rat if you wanna

My money mandatory, slip you a deposit slip

Money green Maserati with a body kit

Dead presidents, got my name on the blimp

Feds in the residence based on a tip

Pled innocent, the state attorney want a grip

I got enough, get with Puff, I can make a flip

Fuck the charts, time for me to top the Forbes list

I'm a fat boy but I'm on that Porsche shit

You see that money? I'm touching mine

It's Rozay, Trey Songz, Busta Rhymes

I got whatever outside

If you wanna hop in, bitch, come and go

Just gotta have your mouth wide

If you don't, bet your friend might come and go

I don't know what you heard

Let's just let's just (Huh? Huh?)

My middle fingers in the sky

Screaming "fuck a hater" 'til the day a nigga die

Hand on my heart while giving thanks

And continue busting these bottles open

Passing the time securing wins, gurking, cigar smoking

Controlling every room, when I enter they start toasting

Undecided on what to drive, leave the garages open

As we do the impossible it seems

Successfully manifesting the thought and living out the dream

Let 'em watch us leave an unforgettable mark in the mud

Document it like adding a chapter to the Bible with my blood

Listen, every day is like a weekend

Like we never give a fuck, celebrating for no reason

A convoy full of trucks, ain't no question, we all eating

And it's silence when I talk like you're hearing the Lord speaking

Now, yeah, as they complain about my ways

'Cause I be grinding, never sleep and just be balling out for days

Be fucking every model and be weeding out the strays

And then I bounce in that Bugatti slowly toting on the haze

Let me pass this shit to Trey

I got whatever outside

If you wanna hop in, bitch, come and go

Just gotta have your mouth wide

If you don't, bet your friend might come and go

I don't know what you heard

Let's just let's just (Huh? Huh?)

My middle fingers in the sky

Screaming "fuck a hater" 'til the day a nigga die