Rick Ross - Choosin' lyrics

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Rick Ross - Choosin' lyrics

[Intro] Its not your fault At least put a n***a on then [Verse 1: Curren$y] Uh, daytime lights on Hell yeah I'm frontin' but you love it I don't hide b**h, I'm high when I'm in public Even in my everyday ride I be stuntin' This is nothing really, you should see me Sunday I'm from New Orleans love, you know how I'm coming Hop out that Impala, left the motor running Them my lil homies front that store, they ain't gone touch it Spitta where you goin', finna meet the money I come through in that bread truck, everybody hungry I be trynna keep it low, but the streets be talking I heard they think I'm selling dope, on them walkie talkies They worst than them b**hes, them b**hes be stalkin' Outside checkin' for which car a n***a parkin' She said she from Belize, but she can speak Ferrari I roll that tree and I write a song about it in the morning [Hook x2: Curren$y] Pull up in that errrr and them b**hes start choosin' Choosin', choosin', choosin', choosin' Pull off in that skrrrrr and them haters gone lose it Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it [Verse 2: Wiz Khalifa] Pull up, pushing bu*tons blowing OG like it's nothing Marijuana fussin, smoking loud is no discussion Black & Yellow, Black & Yellow, something out of nothing Choppers like the Russians, bust your head that's a concussion Full time grinder, all the time hustlin' b**h, I'm from the Burg so you know that I be thuggin' Made it from the bottom, so in God we put our trust in Certified stoner, get a Raw and put a nug in Rari's, Rari's, Rari's, Lamborghini hari kari Suicidal doors, tell the owner I said sorry Pull up in that you know, pockets fat like sumo Taylor Gang or Die, Jet 'La La La' Life! [Hook x2: Curren$y] [Verse 3: Rick Ross] My homies, we sold pills, The motive was chrome wheels Pullin' up to club Liv, makin' them hoes peel My n***as was way trill, wardrobe was unreal My Cuban was Spanish gold, so vintage as my Cazals I'm talking the facts of life, can I just have a slice? Best seats at the game, 'Bron having a night Let him go check the stats, cause all I want is the racks Even moving the merch, I'm getting 60 a hat MCM on my luggage, Reebok making me bu*tered Behike Cuban cigars bombaclot he think he Dudus Double M, we the hottest on the f**ing turf I'm going straight to heaven, crib built like the church [Hook x2: Curren$y]