Artist: Busta Rhymes f/ Rick Ross, Trey Songz Album: Year of the Dragon Song: Til We Die Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com Dready (C'MON!) [Chorus: Trey Songz] + (Busta) I got whatever outside If you wanna hop in bitch come and goooooo Just gotta have your mouth wide If you know that your friend might come and goooooo Oh, fuck what you heard (And if you think we gon' stop) Then that's just absurd (Oh, ohh!) My middle finger's in the sky (Yeah!) Screamin "Fuck a hater" 'til the day a nigga die [Busta Rhymes] Yeah, I got 'em yellin "Oh God LORD!" Presence fresh, Gillette razor sharp, Tom Ford Fuck G-4's, I charter private Concordes And shoot through the sky like missiles when the don's bored Hah, toastin bottles with a boom Smellin stink like old money buried in the king's tomb When you think we smell funny certain niggaz wanna watch him When it comes to money I'm a rose fragrance, watch the flower blossom! Yeah, when it comes to bread y'all niggaz know it's me I articulate beautiful like a poetry Hoes bring me that paper just like they owe him threes Triple my revenue, God bless my rosaries Listen, and while you're witnessin Your Highness And we're celebratin success then sippin on the finest Most you muh'fuckers need to learn to stand behind us when we come and dismantle you niggaz quick and leave you spineless Now that's for you to digest [Chorus] [Rick Ross] She see me stackin cheese, and my satin sheets Silver SLR, smokin lavender leaf Yellow Jesus piece, I still feed the streets I'm gettin skull, in Ferrari seats Mighters{?} at the top, get arrogant on them Send a bottle up, you can ride if you wanna My money mandatory, slip you a deposit slip Money green Maserati with a body kit Dead presidents got my name on a blimp Feds in the residence based on a tip Playin innocent, the state attorney want a grip I got enough, get with Puff, I could make a flip Fuck the charge, 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 touchin mine It's Rozay, Trey Songz, Busta Rhymes [Chorus] [Busta Rhymes] Hand on my heart while givin thanks and continue bustin these bottles open Passin the time securin wins, gherkins, cigar smokin Controllin every room when I enter they start toastin Undecided on what to drive, leave the garages open As we, do the impossible it seems Successfully manifestin the thought and livin out the dream Let 'em watch us, leave an unforgettable mark in the mud Documented like adding a chapter to the Bible with my blood Listen~!! Every day is like a weekend Like we never give a fuck, celebratin for no reason A convoy full of trucks, ain't no question we ALL eatin Then it's silence when I talk like they're hearin the Lord speakin now Yeah, as they complain about my ways cause how we grind and never sleep and just be ballin out for days Be fuckin every model and be weedin out the strays And then I bounce on that Bugatti slowly tokin on the haze Let me pass the shit to Trey [Chorus]