Chain of Command Letra - Rick Ross ft. Nino Breeze, Big Tony

Nino Breeze

Big Tony

H-Town

Let's pour up somethin' (Maybach Music)

Dick suck with my head back

Blue hat and my red slab

Gold Vogues, I'm jet lagged

Old hoes, I don't text back

Ridin' 'round through H-Town

Choosin' hoes from the waist down

Taxin' niggas for the fake smiles

Celebrate as a cake, pal

Half a mil' in my ragtop

Race a nigga like NASCAR

What you niggas so mad for?

Rollin' weed out a glass jar

Pretty bitches, I piss on

I'm outside 'til the bricks gone

Shop online and I get somethin'

Bottom line, my bitch comin'

First round, my draft pick

Pass the hookah to a bad bitch

Belaire bottle, that's that shit

(Belaire bottle, that's that shit)

Ricky Ross is my nickname

Caught a charge and my bitch came

Blame it all on my dick game

Double-M, ain't shit change (Nah)

I been had—

I been had my lil' pain (I been had my lil' pain)

I been had my lil' swag (I been had my lil' swag)

I been playin' with that cash (I been playin' with that shit)

I been had all the bad hoes

Audemars to Cartiers, I been had those

Hottest nigga in the city, I been that, though

And had these niggas in they feelings, what you mad for?

Probably 'cause I'd catch a body 'bout my cash flow

Deposit like Illuminati how they snatch soul

See, I be wantin' all the drama on some creep shit

So I can go to droppin' demos where you sleep, bitch

Peep this, Forgiatos and they deep dish

Ain't no weakness, you ain't strong enough to beef with

Highly recommend you miss a nigga with the sneak diss

Have the 40 starin' in your face like a bee lip (Ayy)

And I got a rap nigga BM all in my DM

Some niggas say they wanna be Mike, I wanna be him

I wanna flood the city with pipes, I feel like Ewing

I want a hundred mil' in my life like Master P them

I want the baddest bitch in the game, I want me some paper

Not a drop of ho in my blood, that's not in my nature

I'ma put a hole in your mug, the fuck I'ma play for?

How you still playin' me pussy? Then I'm gon' shake ya

Boss gloss on my Vogues tires

Twelve racks for the four-nines

Boss gloss on my Vogues tires

Twelve racks for the four-nines

Desert Eagle weigh four pounds

West Good Bank where it goes down

H-Town, this for the city

Told you niggas wasn't fuckin' with me

Takin' off like the Houston Rockets

And Acres Home, they comin' with me (Maybach Music)

Thick thot don't wanna stop givin' me top up in the drop

Get the drop, one phone call, have them Hoovers runnin' up in your spot

Play with them, but don't play with me, keep a knife and AK with me

In the trap, keep yay with me and two young niggas that stay with me

Metal-grain strap when you see me, 7.62s fly, Chopper City, B.G.

Cop a 396 off one GC

Bunk baby, sippin' on syrup like sweet tea

Wockhardt mixed with Fanta

Y City dead slow, headed to the Camper

Real-life stepper, never been no rapper

Head the game with a run, wasn't no pleasure

Pull up on your block and make OG cowards, I don't really even need no strap

From the north to the south, got the city on lock, on some real G shit, no cap, nigga