Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 4Get'em, artist - Rick Ross. Date of issue: 21.06.2012
Song language: English
4Get'em |
| C-note after c-note, put the remix on my kilo |
| Thought I wouldn’t make it, now I’m winning -- Timothy Tebow |
| Fourth quarter, I’m back; |
| fourth quarter, in fact |
| Fourth quarter, that sack; |
| Fourth Ward in all black |
| I said boss and I meant that; |
| advance, you spent that |
| Corvette so clean you’ll think Bruce Springsteen rid that |
| Cars just like sneakers, just got me ten pair |
| Dubai, I been there -- but fuck that, we in here |
| Roll up and inhale, I live next to Denzel |
| Alonzo, my condo cost three mil', this shit real |
| IPhone and iPad, Air Max, and my gat |
| Left hand got ten bands; |
| back pocket, four stacks |
| All I need is bad hoes, all these niggas gon' rat |
| Half these niggas working now, they knocked it down, they’re going back |
| All I need is Benzos, squatting on Lorenzos |
| Stack my money tenfold, make this my new temple |
| Fuck em, fuck em, I’m screaming fuck em |
| Fuck em, fuck em, I’m screaming fuck em |
| Fuck all you haters |
| Watch me fuck all these bitches |
| I got eight different Rollies |
| And they all mint condition |
| I’m screaming fuck em, fuck em, I’m screaming fuck em |
| Fuck em, fuck em, I’m screaming fuck em |
| I got five different Benzes |
| This is my deposition |
| I’m screaming, «Fuck every witness» |
| Cause bitch, I’m big business |
| I’m screaming fuck em |
| 'Migo hit my boost, 'migo hit my boost |
| What you know about walking in the Gucci store and they salute? |
| Chain cost a coupe, coupe cost a crib |
| Riding with the chopper, like it’s my friend |
| This for real niggas only, I still bet with Kobe |
| Got a sign in my garage that say, «Foreign only» |
| Four zips pouring, on mixtapes I’m touring |
| See my shit that fire shit, and yo' shit boring |
| I’m chain smoking loud like it’s a Newport |
| Dad wasn’t around -- my father figure was Too Short |
| New Porsche, deuced up, two cups got juice in it |
| Two forks, two pots, I could whip it both-handed |
| My girl is bow-legged, just do it like Bo Jackson |
| Every beat I’m toe-tagging, charm big as a Volkswagon |
| Money got me sagging, it really doesn’t matter |
| I run circles round these niggas' world like Saturn |
| Black Foamposites, it’s like we on that mobbing shit |
| Riding five deep and I’m as dirty as them congressmen |
| Sixty-two, without no tint; |
| missing roof on my new shit |
| Ironic since my drive increased, my driver see the profit |
| Yeah, work, fuck you niggas, pay me though |
| Smoke that Mark McGwire strong, Oakland ain’t no basic smoke |
| Shout-out to your lady, a.k.a. MMG favorite ho |
| Tell that ass the way to go before I show her where to go |
| No Canseco, and I’m switching lanes at one six oh |
| A nigga trees fine -- a police siren! |
| Woop woop -- nah, that’s just Diplo |
| And you cute, shorty; |
| let’s get low |
| On the low, I’mma talk that jazz |
| Jungle fever for the night |
| Horny or white, that’s Anglo-Sax |