Текст песни Rick Ross - Mafia Music

I got a feelin nigga wit it (?) and my money be da root
Look up at da stars, she like "Honey where da roof?"
Pull up in a Dawes (?), canaries (?) dey go on roof,
Even once had a job pourin tar up on da roof
Dat boy had it hard, no facade it's da truth,
So now when I menage and get massaged it's da proof
Proof's in da pudding and dat bakin soda taken,
Paper dat I'm makin, gotta take dem photos naked
Listenin to niggas like whistlin dat Wendy Williams,
I flip my middle finga, I'm chillin on twenty million
Da rumors turn me on I'm masterbatin at da top,
These hoes so excited so dey catchin every drop
I'm dodgin debacles like pot holes in Jamaica,
We cut down the weed, bury the paper on dem acres
Martin had a dream, Bob got high,
I still do both but somehow I got by

Preflo prayed, Mike Vick payed,
Bobby Brown strayed, Whitney lost weight
Kimbo Slice on da pad when I write,
Dat may why the money lookin funny in the light
But who really cares? You just throw it in the air,
Celebratin wealth, pourin Mo