Tag: Tommy Lee


Rick Ross – Dead Presidents (feat. Future, Jeezy & Yo Gotti) (Rather You Than Me Album)




[Intro: Rick Ross]
Rather You Than Me
If you’ve been fucking with me from Port of Miami
It’s been hell of a fucking journey
(M-M-Maybach Music) Ain’t nun’ changed, nigga
Lil’ stronger, lil’ wiser
Maybe a lil’ more violent
Blame it on America, fuck it
(Beat Billionaire)

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
I’m pullin’ off the lot, I bought it cash (woah)
Her future bright, don’t give a fuck about her past (woah)
Her ass be lookin’ good inside the leggings (woah)
But I notice that she missin’ all her edges (woah)
I run the game just by runnin’ with the felons (woah)
Poor attitude, and got rich nigga calisthenics (woah)
Walkin’ in the courtroom, sippin’ on a beverage (woo)
I know the judge, so I got a lot of leverage (woo)
Pissin’ on these bitches is a fetish (R. Kelly)
Fully loaded .60s smokin’ on a seven (all ready)
Your dawg get a dime, you never wrote a letter (woah)
Still in a box, got him rappin’ acapella (woah)
Can’t trust no people fuckin’ with the reverend (woah)
I got a chopper, boy, don’t make me be the devil (woah)
He knockin’ on the door and know the password (woo)
Gave me his blessings, boy, I’m hotter than the last verse (woo)

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti]
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Let’s go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fed sentences, fed, f-fed sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent

[Verse 2: Future]
I got thirty white bitches like Tommy Lee
I make drug money, nigga, I make blood money
On my third passport, and I’m geechie as fuck
I got wet stripper pussy at the airport
I got Bowlingreen dollars on my chopper
Bussin’ down a hundred bales in the bathtub
Fuck this Philippine pussy in some house shoes
I got dope money, nigga, I got war wounds
Get to the clutchin’ on the hammer, ain’t no dance moves
I was posted on the, stoop, hangin’ with my Haitians
The murder’s on the, news, all front pages
Young niggas catchin’ bodies, ain’t no relations
I was stackin’ Ben Franks and bought some Fiji
They rob you two times in a row, that’s a repeat
And I’m fuckin’ niggas hoes ’cause they easy
I’m in here fuckin’ niggas wives, balls breezy
She gotta fuck me like she love me, like she need me
I got my Maybach flooded out with extra TVs
I make a movie every single fuckin’ day
I John Travolta when I flaunt that Patek face

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti]
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Let’s go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fed sentences, fed, f-fed sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent

[Verse 3: Jeezy]
Let’s go!
Hands on these niggas, got the yellow bracelet
Check off in my pocket like the yellow pages
Fuck you niggas was when I was ashy, nigga?
Loafers in the chop, I keep it classy, nigga
Build a empire, yeah, that’s what my state of mind
Motherfuck ’em all, yeah, that’s what my state of mind
Keep the blocks over there, we call it Legoland
Meanwhile, the kids smokin’ like it’s Amsterdam
Dope boy prez, you know who got the troops
Sixteen when I bought my first Rollie
Legend in my hood just like I’m Escobar
Never ride dirties in the extra car

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti]
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Let’s go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead, d-dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fed sentences, fed, f-fed sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty ’til proven innocent




RICK ROSS – Dead Presidents lyrics




Rather you than me
If you’ve been fucking with me since Port of Miami
It’s been hell of a fucking journey
M-m-maybach Music
Ain’t nun’ changed nigga
Lil’ stronger, lil’ wiser, maybe a lil’ more violent
Blame it on America
Fuck it
Beat Billionaire

I’m pulling off the lot, I bought the cash
Her future bright, don’t give a fuck about her past
Her ass be looking good inside the leggings
But I know that she’s missing all the edges
I run the game just by running with the felons
Pour out the Judy, got rich nigga calisthenics
Walking in the court room, sipping on the beverage
I know the judge so I got a lot of leverage
Pissing on these bitches is a fetish (R. Kelly)
Fully loaded .60s smoking on a seven (all ready)
Your dawg get a dime, you never wrote a letter
Still in a box, got her rapping acapella
Can’t trust no people fucking with the presser
I got a chopper, but don’t make me be the devil
He knocking on the door and all the Baswares
Gave me addresses where I’m hiding in the last verse

Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent

I got thirty white bitches like Tommy Lee
I make drug money, nigga, I make blood money
On my third passport, and I’m geechie as fuck
I got wet stripper pussy at the airport
I got molly green dollars on my transport
Bussing down a hundred bales in the bath tub
Fuck this Philippine pussy in some house shoes
I got dope money, nigga, I got war wounds
This the culture on the hammer, ain’t no dance moves
I was posted on the [??] stupid, hanging with my Haitians
Murder’s on the news, all front pages
Gunning and catching bodies, ain’t no relations
I was stacking Ben Franklins posted in Fiji
They rocking two times in a row, that’s a repeat
And I’m fucking niggas hoes cus they easy
I’m in here fucking niggas wives, balls breezy
She gotta fuck like she love like she need me
I got my Maybach flooded all with extra TVs
I make a movie every single fucking day
I John Travolta when I flood that Patek face

Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent

Let’s go!
Hands on these niggas, got the yellow bracelet
Check off in my pocket like the yellow pages
Fuck you niggas woes, when I was ashing nigga
Loafers in the chop, I keep it classy nigga
Build a empire, yeah that’s whats my state of mind
Motherfuck ’em all, yeah that’s whats my state of mind
Keep the block sober there, we call it Lego land
Meanwhile the kids smoking like its Amsterdam
Dope boy prez, you know who got the truths
Sixteen when I bought my first rollie
Legend in my hood just like I’m Escobar
Never riding dirty in the extra car

Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent


Rick Ross – Dead Presidents (feat. Future, Jeezy & Yo Gotti)


[Intro: Rick Ross]
Rather you than me
If you’ve been fucking with me since Port of Miami
It’s been hell of a fucking journey
M-m-maybach Music
Ain’t nun’ changed nigga
Lil’ stronger, lil’ wiser, maybe a lil’ more violent
Blame it on America
Fuck it
Beat Billionaire

[Verse 1: Rick Ross]
I’m pulling off the lot, I bought the cash
Her future bright, don’t give a fuck about her past
Her ass be looking good inside the leggings
But I know that she’s missing all the edges
I run the game just by running with the felons
Pour out the Judy, got rich nigga calisthenics
Walking in the court room, sipping on the beverage
I know the judge so I got a lot of leverage
Pissing on these bitches is a fetish (R. Kelly)
Fully loaded .60s smoking on a seven (all ready)
Your dawg get a dime, you never wrote a letter
Still in a box, got her rapping acapella
Can’t trust no people fucking with the presser
I got a chopper, but don’t make me be the devil
He knocking on the door and all the Baswares
Gave me addresses where I’m hiding in the last verse

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti ]
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent

[Verse 2: Future]
I got thirty white bitches like Tommy Lee
I make drug money, nigga, I make blood money
On my third passport, and I’m geechie as fuck
I got wet stripper pussy at the airport
I got molly green dollars on my transport
Bussing down a hundred bales in the bath tub
Fuck this Philippine pussy in some house shoes
I got dope money, nigga, I got war wounds
This the culture on the hammer, ain’t no dance moves
I was posted on the [??] stupid, hanging with my Haitians
Murder’s on the news, all front pages
Gunning and catching bodies, ain’t no relations
I was stacking Ben Franklins posted in Fiji
They rocking two times in a row, that’s a repeat
And I’m fucking niggas hoes cus they easy
I’m in here fucking niggas wives, balls breezy
She gotta fuck like she love like she need me
I got my Maybach flooded all with extra TVs
I make a movie every single fucking day
I [??] flood that Patek face

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti ]
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent

[Verse 3: Jeezy]
Let’s go!
Hands on these niggas, got the yellow bracelet
Check off in my pocket like the yellow pages
Fuck you niggas woes, when I was ashing nigga
Loafers in the chop, I keep it classy nigga
Build a empire, yeah that’s whats my state of mind
Motherfuck ’em all, yeah that’s whats my state of mind
Keep the block sober there, we call it Lego land
Meanwhile the kids smoking like its Amsterdam
Dope boy prez, you know who got the truths
Sixteen when I bought my first rollie
Legend in my hood just like I’m Escobar
Never riding dirty in the extra car

[Hook: Jeezy & Yo Gotti ]
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
They go to war, yeah, all my lil’ niggas militant
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Dead presidents, dead them dead presidents
Fair sentences, fair, fair sentences
Let’s go to trial, we guilty to proven innocent


Tommy Lee Sparta – Person Of Interest Lyrics


(Intro)
Dem seh mi a person of interest, interest
True mi bank book full a nough money and a pree nough interest
Interest, a Tommy Lee mi name and everyday mi have a brand new princess, princess
Man a business man and in a dancehall music man invest, invest
How you fi seh man a person of interest?

(Verse 1)
Dem a seh wa mi nuh do
But mi know wa mi do
Tommy Lee mi name
Some call mi Guzzo
And everybody know a dancehall mi a do
Cyaa mascot mi out mi nuh know Johncono
Mi naw stop fight the bottle
Wit my hand, mi nuh use nonechattle
EVery ghetto youth waan car and castle
And babylon nuh stop tackle dem a seh mi a

(Repeat Chorus)

(Verse 2)
Dem cyaa splash mi out like swat to a fly
A ask and a try question the allabuy
If you know mi you know seh a trouble mi avoid
And the more dem a fight a the more mi a rise
Hard work, persistence a that mi apply
Jah guide a mi road cause a bare but a fly
You know lot of spy waan tel allot of lie

(Repeat Chorus)

(Repeat Verse 1)

(Repeat Chorus)