Millions (feat. Rick Ross)

[Intro: Pusha-T]

You know what happen when

G.O.O.D. Music and MMG get together, right?

We get that money

[Hook: Pusha-T]

Millions in the ceiling

Choppers in the closet

[Verse 1: Pusha-T]

This that shit that y'all wanted

This shit cook up hard, don't it?

Y'all gotta beg my pardon on it

But this shit sound like God don't it?

Yeah, I'm tired, nigga, and y'all gotta pay your tithes, nigga

Call my Phantom the holy ghost, church on chrome wheel tires, nigga

Pop tags, I'm not paranoid cause the pawn shop was my paradise

I was dead pot when that bounty came for that knot saved in that shoebox

Blue tops, blue tops, bad bitch in that blue fox

This big face is in blu-ray and these black diamonds like boondocks

I restore the feelin' of when niggas made a killin'

Hidin' choppers in the closet, half a million in the ceiling

And them hoes with angel faces, cryin' loud with ill intentions

Just so I can buy them Christians have 'em shittin on all they bitches

[Hook] x2

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]

I'm haunted by horror stories, wanna-be home owners

Horrible outcomes, a dope boy got motive

Cries when he convicted, cried on every visit

I'm cryin' sayin' his name, ride for all my niggas

Used to fiddle my finger 'til I found me a fortune

Finger fuckin' Ferrari, south of France early morning

Did drugs with Donatella, Versace my a cappella

Never see me in Neiman's committin' treason

Soft loafer preferred, frost, organic herb

Stay away from the Forbes, if I only could tell you more

I got this I got that, I got that I got this

Got a kilo for 20 my choppas say I'm the shit

[Hook] x2

[Verse 3: Pusha T]

This that shit y'all ask for

Make a nigga mash on the gas, floor

Two-door, four-door, roll through the hood like task force

Fast forward--oops! They say they wanna see proof

My record sales ain't much as theirs and we still ride in same coupes

How we still fuck the same hoes, how we still buy the same clothes

How we both got the same watch, I'm just keepin' y'all on your toes

Dope boys, oh my, that price drop and that coke rise

Then set it over that blue flame then hang it dry like clothes line

I restore the feelin' of when niggas made a killin'

Hidin' choppers in the closet, half a million in the ceiling

Got the razor on the counter, Arm & Hammer in the kitchen

Just to keep my feet in Christians and keep fucking all your bitches

[Hook] x2

[Outro] x4

This that shit ya'll wanted

This shit sound like God don't it