Rick Ross & Meek Mill – Iconic Lyrics

[Intro: Rick Ross]
Sippin’ Luc Belaire
Smokin’ on this high tolerance
Nothin’ but the finest flowers
Please, believe it, yo
Yo (Maybach Music)

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Never look at pussy from a bitches point of view
It’s us against the world, you got me in your corner, boo
I’m gettin’ money, I can go and buy a bitch a body
Mind over matter, so she bought the Maserati
Apartment in the city, rule one, I’m in the city
I ain’t gotta tweet it all, my niggas know I’m with it
Car show king (King), cop those things (Things)
Her Gucci bag tote (Woo), that’s ’bout four G’s (Damn)
Beard gang state (Boss), gold chains swing
Ass shots heavy, high heels mean
Airplanes loaded (Ooh), valet the Lotus (Ooh)
In the pool notice (Ooh), yeah, that nigga roguish
Balenciaga smell, LV totes (Totes)
Donald Trump taps (Woo), smell kilos (You see it?)
Giuliani next (Haha), Renzel wrote it
HT grow it or I won’t smoke it (Nigga)
LV luggage (Biggest), shorty so rugged
Concealed weapon permit, ’cause she know I’m thuggin’ (Yeah)
Watch my back, ’cause you know I got yours (I got you)
Collins Ave shoppin’, how we moppin’ them stores
Drop top coupes (Coupes), stop by Snoop’s (Snoop), icon weed (Weed)
I got juice (I got it), gold presidential (I got it)
Full time masseuse (I got it), banker wear suits (I got it), money like Maloofs (I got it)

[Verse 2: Meek Mill & Rick Ross]
Milly on my neck, got lil’ shorty out her body
Met her in Atlanta, but I fucked in Abu Dhabi
Bully in the driveway, choppas in the lobby
Stretchin’ out some baddies, like I signed up for pilates
Doin’ karate in a Lamb’ chop
My son like three and he keep askin’ ’bout his grand pop
Leave it up to me, I’ll be SP with all these damn shots
Dead opps, red dots, givin’ out headshots
And I fear not, deep in them trenches, hold my head high
And me and my niggas don’t beef ’bout bitches, ’cause we share thots
And a lot of shit don’t be my business but I hear a lot
My youngin killed my other youngin, I’m in a weird spot (Ooh)
These niggas tryna be on the ‘Gram, they ain’t tryna share a cot
I came up trappin’, sellin’ grams, but now I share stocks (Nigga)
I’m from the bottom, if that’s my man, shit, I’ll share a watch
I’ll share a chain (We did it) ’cause that’s the life, forget we wasn’t lit, we used to share flings (We did it)
She gon’ give me toppy in the Maybach to the airplane (Huh)
If she do it sloppy, get a AP and some earrings
Jewelry be so loud, you come around me, probably hear things (Haha)
We caught them same cases niggas caught, never said things (Never)
Mansion with the pool (Woo), I ain’t never swim (Nigga)
Sold Ross the mansion in the A, I never been (Facts)
Buttons on the tools (Woo), fuck ’em let ’em spin
Mama told me, « If you go to war, you better win », woah

[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
LV luggage (Uh), shorty so rugged (What?)
Heavy Fashion Nova (Nigga), I’m so gutta
Vegas for the fights (Fights), heavy on the ice (Ice)
All the flights chartered and we rollin’ dice (Yee)
Menages in the pool, the pool on the roof (Roof)
I hit her in my Nikes like your boy was playin’ hoops
Double M a cult, seated on Revolt (Revolt)
Diddy by my side, I got shooters and they scopes
Such a paradox comin’ from one pair of socks
Lesson number one is that you never call the cops (Uh)
Somebody gotta bleed (Bleed), somebody wipe they eyes (Eyes)
You never cry out loud (Never) some things you keep inside (Yes)
Some things you keep inside
Some things you keep inside, han
Maybach Music