Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blessing In Disguise, artist - Rick Ross. Date of issue: 31.12.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Blessing In Disguise |
| I live just enough for the city so I get by |
| Money never changed how I felt, would I risk my |
| Life for a dollar, homie? |
| Nah, I don’t think so |
| Greed breeds jealousy, nigga, out here when getting fo’s |
| Catch a nigga slipping, put a bullet in his temple |
| Homie, it’s the same rules, money talks, simple my kinfolk |
| Call it what I’m living like the high life |
| Only if he knew what I had to do to keep my mind right |
| I tell you I got 20/20 hindsight |
| See it in the distance, hieroglyphics keep the rhymes tight |
| My mind like, game recognize that |
| Real recognize real, steel .45 strapped |
| Underneath the white tee, Zimmerman get shot down |
| Hero, it ain’t nothing but a sandwich, call the cops now |
| Fuck the police, stop running |
| White boys terrorize nigga' neighborhoods, gunning |
| Down the innocent, and then the beginning ends |
| You was doing 50 in the 35, the ending is |
| You fit the description of the subject in this incident |
| We gon' have to take you downtown for some questionin' |
| Damn, a blessin in disguise if you ask me |
| I was just about to hit the highway with my last key |
| Could it be that maybe God is intervenes |
| With my life like he did so many times in between |
| A half a block away from the crime scene |
| A minute earlier and that was me, think |
| I’ve been knowing Ross since he was Teflon |
| Same nigga now it was back then, nothing stepped on |
| Dopeman, dopeman yelling |
| Cook it 'til it’s rock hard, bag it up, sell it |
| Aroma so loud, so loud that you can smell it |
| Kept to them niggas getting caught go and tell it |
| Every time I turn around, y’all got something to say about me |
| But y’all don’t know a damn thing about me |
| Just what you see, that’s what you judge me on |
| Every time I turn around the guilty be pointing fingers at me |
| Homie, I’m just trying to be all I can be |
| But not for free, that’s why the fuck we roll |
| I need that |
| Can’t even believe this day here, my nigga |
| I remember us sitting in the parking lot talking about getting money |
| Cracks in the wall, standing in the puddle |
| Sunny south Florida, a cold motherfucker |
| Ready for a war, barely wanna talk |
| Ballys on, my nigga, as they walking back and forth |
| Makes you wanna hustle, take care of my brothers |
| Raymond passed away, here’s something for his mother |
| It never is enough, trying to show her that I love him |
| We were fishing buddies, breed the dog, split the puppies |
| Pictures on the wall, bitches we done raw |
| Niggas getting robbed, the only shit that we can solve |
| We all wanna get it, ball for a minute |
| Accept collect calls, tell our dawgs that we did it |
| Plenty money orders, that what uncle Kenny taught us |
| Keep your face clean when you’re out here bending corners |
| Always keep in mind, you fall in love a thousand times |
| Regardless what we went through, I’m still right here by your side |
| Artificial homies, worse than the ages |
| When you parking all your cars, they wanna know the payments |
| Rose petals stripping on the casket |
| Baby boy done grew into a bastard |
| On that lean, you know I fuck her fantastic |
| Work white as Rita Ora in that plastic |
| Took shots, shed tears, that’s war |
| Bust bottles on yachts, stand tall |
| Catch a case, don’t talk, that’s raw |
| Scarface, Rick Ross: big boys |
| Big boys, Scarface, Rozay, we big boys |
| I need that |