Rick Ross - Chevy Anthem lyrics

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Rick Ross - Chevy Anthem lyrics

(Intro) Remix! (Rick Ross) Remix! (Rick Ross) Remix! (Rick Ross) Chevy Ridin High Boy (Yo Gotti) Its Rickey Ross (Rick Ross) Mon E. G. (Mon E. G.) Its Mon E. G. (Rick Ross) Rickey Ross (Mon E. G.) Its Rickey Ross (Rick Ross) Mon E. G. (Mon E. G.) And Mon E. G. (Rick Ross) Yo Gotti! (Yo Gotti) (Yo Gotti) I remember my first Chevy 73' I was 17 ridin wit a whole B It was money green, fat boy triple gold Tha 20's era, right when we stop ridin fo's Lamb'd up ride, 30 inch rims glide 6 feet off tha ground make it hard fa you ta see inside Surround sound like a motion picture aquafina rims got my ocean spinnas Hit a bu*ton, car crank up Notha bu*ton, do' lift up People lookin, what tha f** What is that, a car or truck Hit tha lot, drop tha top b**h jump in, late ta block VIP done k**ed tha club, headed ta my otha spot Mashin off 454, look like Im pa**in off Rubba burnin, pa**in yawl Rims damn near fallin off Yo Gotti, hell naw I aint petty So I wanna welcome my haters ta my 100 grand Chevy (Chorus 2x) Chevy ridin high boy (Mon E. G.) My Chevy stay fly (Yo Gotti) Got me and yo baby mama (Mon E. G.) Sittin off in tha sky (Yo Gotti) Mon E. G. (Mon E. G.) Yo Gotti (Yo Gotti) Its Rickey Ross (Rick Ross) No lie (Mon E. G.) Its tha (Mon E. G.) Chevy Anthem Remix, my Chevy Ridin High (Yo Gotti) Yes Sir! (Mon E. G.) (Mon E. G.) Chevy ridin high, blue candy paint make my teeth hurt 30's on them low pros, gas brake skee skurt Suicide doors wit tha stick in tha floor My whole arm stay icy, keep my dick in ya who*e You dont really wanna race me at tha light, red green take flight Gla** packs loud pipes, tv's are too bright Outta spite, Ima turn up tha sound ta drown ya music Cocaine white charger, reminiscin tha Cool Whip 2 seconds done dipped, smashed out in tha gla** house West Coast mentallity, here ta switch drop tha a** out Im out on errthang, underdog, deadly game, big block super fast, put that on errthang You can call me Diddy like Sean, hit the bar team winnin Feelin good like we winnin tha World Series in tha 9th innin Free ya mind like John Lennon, interior blue lemon Cuz Im true to every sentence ball out like tha Pistons (Chorus 2x) (Rick Ross) I started sellin weed dreamin of a 7-3 Dat didnt cut it so f** it we out here sellin keys Now my roof suede, and my seats gator I aint want tints, I like to see haters We rollin back to back, and we rollin slow Whitney Houston wit me, n***a Im talkin blow You s**as talkin slow, im talkin to who coppin mo They talkin sideways, thats what tha choppas fo Sittin on them silver datins, bumpin that bigga rankin I blew out tha brains, f** what them n***as thinkin Multi-millionaire, started wit crack crumbs So when you hear them gla** packs, its time to act up (Chorus 2x)