Rick Ross - Murda Mami [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Intro: Rick Ross]
Yeah! Pussies don't get pussy
Brooklyn (uh-huh)

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
Kinda short, dark-skinned, she a fly lil' bitch
Be up in all them clubs spillin Dom P and shit
Know the boy stunt, Jonathan Kelsey clutch
Yves Saint Laurent fronts on her bags to the pumps
D's love her aura, Balenciago fedora
Lame niggas bore her, struttin like she Kimora
She'll take a kilo and stuff it up in the coochie
Brick of that raw, stash it between her coochie (ha ha)
Breeze through the hood, niggas treat her like a O.G
First bitch in the hood with the Bentley Coupe GT (yes)
Brooklyn is the team, Alexander McQueen
Bustin down a bird and balance it with a beam
5'5", slanted eyes, bitch walk is mean
Mahushi Ron bracelets and Armani jeans
They're called skinny, my bitch is like a rasta with it
Black car, red bottoms, only mobster in it

[Chorus: Foxy Brown] (x2)
It's like damn, bitch niggas lovin me now
'09 Bonnie & Clyde doin it now - whoa
Murder murder, these bitches ain't never heard of
Gettin money, gettin hurt up, impatient to leak them burners

[Verse 2: Foxy Brown]
Aiyyo Ross, send them bitches to the boss
The blood claat flyest bad bitch in New York
Y'all hoes better bow the fuck down and pay homage
I'm ten million sold and that's SoundScan knowledge
And all y'all rat bitches sound garbage
While me and Ross like the hood version of bombings
Bars keep me stylin from Giuseppe to Marblonyx
The .38 special in my Chanel stockings
Now that I got the llama and the Hermes duffel
Word to fly silver Fox, keep you stompin, who above me?
The dries, Stan Noten pumps, Nickelus Curt with platform
So ladies raise your glass to this mad song

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Rick Ross]
Money ain't a thing, just look at my pinkie rings
So many numbers in the bank, shit could never be the same
Tall four Velours, withdrawals by Michael Kors
And I watch a pretty penny I'm talkin hundred or more
My critique for 'leet, not for the cheap
And my money in the street way longer than my receipt
Dealin with the money, no (Monie) all (In The Middle)
I'm dealin with who owe me, opponents, they gettin riddled
Box niggas up, on the ropes
Louis sneakers, Louis luggage, the colognes and soaks
Smellin like money, my body tatted with hundreds
Oh-nine Bonnie & Clyde, gotta live with it like uh

[Chorus]

[Outro: Magazeen]