Finals 2 lyrics
by Fat Trel
[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
We them n*ggas at the park, we just wanna ball
Sellin' dope to get a car and don't know what it's called
n*ggas foul but the referees don't get involved
It's the finals and my dogs came to take it all
2014 and them boys back
I'm on the finals on the floor and that boy strapped
50 stacks for the seat, bring the popcorn
Diamond chains and my million dollar cross on
Yeah they tell me that these ain't the streets to floss on
I put your b*tch on my list, and it's not long
Runnin' down on n*ggas, they retract their statement
I keep a bomb, I drop it like a compilation
All y'all n*ggas claim to know me well
Top down, I got your b*tch's hair in a ponytail
She never been to Tom Ford, n*gga
So I double back for that encore, n*gga
Yayo comin' out my pores, n*gga
You should see me and them stars, n*gga
Rich n*ggas don't test drive
And double M, that be the best
I let her count the cake up in my stash spot
Put all her naked photos in my laptop
We got a bond that we could never break
She wash her hair with Belaire, that pus*y sweet as cake
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 2: Wale]
I took a break to let these lames get their thing off
Now I seen the scenery, can't seem to get the cigar
These hoes a free throw, Stephenson and LeBron
I just let her blow, in a moment she gon' be home
Isolate the offense, n*gga don't you hear me talkin'?
And you know I watch more green than like floor season tickets in Boston
And we show off like Dolph Ziggler, let raw b*tches get tossed out
All I call is bad sh*t like I'm bashing Joe Crawford
And these dudes ain't slick, sayin' you, is that you? Buyin' Jordans?
But we know their set, like a Euro step, them n*ggas nearly walkin'
So turn me up, I got it, turn me up, I got it
Thank God for this hip-hop cause on ESPN I bombed it
You can see that we keep our promise
I could beat up, beat up, no conscience
And ridin' with my feet up, my seat up, reclinin'
Supreme up, my tee, and Moschino designer
Believe that your female'll follow
Better eat up or be up cause we at the Finals
Swag champion, believe that, ring at the counter
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 3: Fat Trel]
I tried to let you pus*y n*ggas eat
My chopper pus*y kill and put you pussies in the street
Say f*ck the major cause I wasn't made for industry
SB be the realest so picture them n*ggas killin' me
Let's get it, I got them same dirty n*ggas with me
Silencers give you life but they make a major difference
You play a witness, I heard you snitchin', you paid the hitter
Chanel purses and red bottoms, I'm bookin' tickets
My clip a 50, my money dirty, her pus*y sticky
You give her hickeys, I f*ck her, duck her and pass to Ricky
My palms itchy, I coulda swore I just hit the lotto
Safe house in Cabo, my Spanish b*tch related to Blanco
My blanket Morocco, my carpet is Cuban
It's never ordinary, don't confuse me with humans
17 fire, what the f*ck was you doin'?
Your bricks were 30 apiece and 28 if you knew him
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 4: Gunplay]
Limpin' like a pimp, jumpin' out the gym
6 Ring J's, every play's a win
Countin' cash in the huddle, blocka, flash from the muzzle
Spazz on a busta, beat your ass like a buzzer
Oh lord, here come the ball hogger
They call him Gunplay, they call him Don Logan
He a livin' legend, keep the engine revin'
And the firearm, bring the fire alarm
f*ck Donald Sterling, f*ck him, f*ck Donald Sterling
f*ck him, f*ck Donald Sterling, screamin' f*ck Donald Sterling
Load the clips with my clippers, tippin' all the strippers
They bitin' on my belt buckle, grippin' on the zippers
Snort a foul line, like it's child time
MMG, 305, our time
Yayo, I'm like a hundred Hannibal Lectors
Reppin' that animal shelter
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 5: French Montana]
Reportin' live from a white Wraith
Courting hinds with the white base
My number one shooter got a white face
Talkin' ladders with Atussin, we just fightin cases
Montana, but tonight I'm Tony Parker
Hop out, hundred chains on Florence Parker
Chasin' dead faces on the blue paper
Fightin' fed cases, you need law paper
My money on another planet
Talkin' fishscale, got the whole salmon
Hop out, sound like heavy metal
My money on another level
You f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Wash head like Marbury, n*gga
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 6: Rockie Fresh]
n*gga gettin' bucks off of tellin' my story
I come through in the clutch, I'm like Ray Allen at 40
Hit the shot and I splash, smoke a blunt, then I crash
I got a bad college b*tch who like to f*ck after class
She study for finals, I study the game
These n*ggas don't know me but his b*tch screamin' my name
I be all over the union feelin' just like Dwyane
Smokin' three pounds of the thunder, it go straight to the brain
Just know the Bulls been the sh*t, wait 'til D Rose back
n*ggas ain't playin', they commentatin' like Shaq
Two mil' on the deal, pull my ring and I'm back
And the whole team winnin', b*tch look at the stacks
Open up, n*gga, middle fingers up
We don't give a f*ck, n*gga
Stuntin' hard, I'm just tryna get a buck, n*gga
Like Milwaukee, walkie talkie, where you at, n*gga?
I'm gettin' stacks, n*gga
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Verse 7: Tracy T]
Pop champagne like I won a championship game
I keep that powder on me, n*gga, like Lebron James
These n*ggas ordinary, Birdman, mercenary
Slam dunk a tickin' b*tch, I'm pitchin' out the Panamera
Killed him in the paint, I swear to God I got a cemetery
Ain't nothin' but bad b*tches to smash on my itinerary
30 shot'll have 'em flippin' like a patty and my b*tches lookin' like
They fresh out pageants, Aston Martin, ridin' rapid
Drop top, choppers shootin' rampid, peel the leaf off of your cabbage
I assist 'em with that package when I pass it, fosho
I post up with it like Bosh, defense
I got a duffle bag full of them blocks, offense
Like Ray Allen with shots, cheerleaders, b*tch
Got a tour bus full of thots
Team full of heat, I'm talkin' Erik Spoelstra
Yeah b*tch, Erik Spoelstra and a n*gga post up
[Chorus: Rick Ross]
My money on another level
My money on another level
She f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
Your b*tch be f*ckin' ordinary n*ggas
[Outro: Gunplay]
f*ck Donald Sterling, f*ck him, f*ck Donald Sterling, f*ck him
f*ck Donald Sterling, screamin' f*ck Donald Sterling
Screamin' f*ck Donald Sterling, f*ck him, f*ck Donald Sterling
(Haaan) f*ck Donald Sterling, screamin' f*ck Donald Sterling
Screamin