Keith Sweat - Supreme lyrics

[Produced by Scott Storch] [Intro: Katt Williams] I just left the new United States emba**y Somewhere in Georgia it's 109 rooms I saw 30 b**hes and 30 rooms and I was on the wrong side of the house Oh... [Rick Ross] Anytime me and Scott Scorch get together you gotta call us the Illuminati Whenever you see the G it represents God and geometry That's what the stencil's for I'ma tell you never be with them Nah, I'm just f**in' with you Aye, Scott, I'm just f**in' with you, baby Yo [Verse 1: Rick Ross] Speedin' in the Ghost on the phone with j**elers My new b**h out of D.C., call me Ricky the Ruler Gotta gather my concentration while countin' my stacks I got eight car notes and just lost me a pack On the beach, I'm up and down, women jockin' my ride 300 horses in this b**h, need a jockey inside False floors for firearms is how you should ride Tried to murder me while in mine so that's how I survived My new deal with Def Jam just set me for life Wanted to chapel the BM, man, I'm just rollin' the dice Big numbers, I'm John Wall, I'm ballin' tonight Just joking, my sense of humor is like one of a kind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind Got them gangstas who on my line that'll blow out your mind [Hook: Keith Sweat] Tell me it's real Tell me this is real, baby How does it feel? How does it feel? [Verse 2: Rick Ross] Geechi Liberace, I'm rich as a b**h Charm city boys get a whole city of brick Through the wire we wettin' n***as, set the sh** on fire My b**h smilin' I wanna bet, now we on Fisher Isle Panamera with Tony Draper, briefcase full of paper Made a k**in' on Martin Luther James Earl shooter My n***as, we grew apart, they joined the rival gang Caught them slippin', gave them a pa** throwin' pistols at survivin' gang Next time boss gotta turn his back on 'em Lettin' young boys *brrrrat* on 'em Facts, never find me with the fake look Trappin' little babies, b**h, just take me to the cakebook Black bottles, boy, that's how our case of ace look Your chick, homie, hit homie on the Facebook Damn, she hit homie on the motherf**in' Facebook [Hook: Keith Sweat] Tell me it's real, I wanna know How does it feel, yeah, how does it feel? [Verse 3: Rick Ross] Clean Maybach, but I'm filthy as sh** The partition is for the women, how busy we get From the scotch, the large mop, bet the linking feel It's all a dream and never wake me up until it's real Duffle bags, that's for the homie when he comin' home He never told and he never used the telephone He on swole and that n***a need a telephone In a Range Rover and a real n***a got it for him [Hook: Keith Sweat] Hey, hey... You wanna know how does it feel Hey, hey... I know, I bet it must feel so real Hey, hey... Tell me it's real, I wanna know hey hey ey How does it feel to be so real [Outro: Katt Williams] You know when hangin' with billion dollar n***as One of the perks is gettin' to meet all these billion dollar b**hes I just met a b**h who never gets jetlag And spent 10 thousand dollars on not her best bag You underdig that