Pots and Pans
[Intro: Rick Ross]
This what I'm talkin' 'bout right here
Ross
Just make the shit work a while, my nigga
Triple C's
[Chorus: J-Rock]
All I need is bakin' soda, some pots and pans
Lil' ice I do what I can
Chick at home sayin' I'm no good
Fuck that I'm gettin' out the hood
[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
What started as a nickel rock
Took 22 months, now I'm tryna get a block
Fuck football, I'm goin' down another path
Couldn't pass the test, to tell the truth
I couldn't fuck with math
I did get a scholarship, but I blew that
Got high, got a ticket and I flew back
To the hell zone, most straps stand 20 shell toes
Get life on ya cell phone
Quarter ki' box of soda, Ross whip that
Career criminal fo' sho', Ross with that
Had to pull my pants up, go and get 'em brands up
Daddy died from cancer, I never had the chance to
Tell him all my plans to, let em' fuck a dancer
Smokin' weed in Amsterdam with his grandson
Why he passed on me, my last homie
I went and bought a bird
I want some cash homie
[Chorus: J-Rock]
All I need is bakin' soda, some pots and pans
Lil' ice I do what I can
Chick at home sayin' I'm no good
Fuck that I'm gettin' out the hood
[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
I never rode a nigga coat tail, made her took a dope sell
Fuck it nigga, o wells, smokin' on that classified
Rollin' in that Lac' of mine
You know my mind stay numb to the world half the time
Thinkin' 'bout Land Rover, damn near was fucked up
Found him in the trunk with another dude, fucked up
The world fucked up, that's why I'm fucked up
Don't get fucked up, fuck with me, you fucked up
Bitch I'mma ride, bitch I'mma die
When I holla 3-0-5, bitch, that's on my life
Got a 40 in the car, a choppa in the crib
The grenades down the street, you gotta git it how you live (Triple C's)
I know niggas turn 1 into 2 and they do what they do
And boi 'em thangs move
Fish scale get the big mail
In the room full of work
In case they came when they inhale
[Chorus: J-Rock]
All I need is bakin' soda, some pots and pans
Lil' ice I do what I can
Chick at home sayin' I'm no good
Fuck that I'm gettin' out the hood
[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
It's time fo' me to cash in, laughin'
Like Martin in Aston, Martin
When I park it, I can see ya bitch heart-beat
So roll out the red carpet, roll up the purple shit
Black navigator flew
Gotta shut ya fuckin' mouth, don't ever take the smooth
Thinkin' of a greater way, to build a greater flow
I hope she got some great head, that's how I grade a hoe
White Beamer in the hood shinin' like a star
Look this half a ki' go to the club and I'mma buy the bar
Do it twice a week fuckin' bitches on the other nights
Promise E-class we'll never miss another fight
Hundred in the bag 5 birds I'mma grab
Turn em' into 8, keep me a clean half
Bakin' soda in the work works wonderful
You see ya dreams come true cause I'm the truth
[Chorus: J-Rock]
All I need is bakin' soda, some pots and pans
Lil' ice I do what I can
Chick at home sayin' I'm no good
Fuck that I'm gettin' out the hood