Lyrics Rapper Estates (feat. Benny the Butcher) - Rick Ross , Benny The Butcher

I pray for us all
In the immortal words of the brother Malcolm X
Yo, yo, yo (Maybach Music)

Backs against ropes, win a case
Then it's back to bein' broke, I know the place
Where the rats and the roaches would race
Now it's rap niggas' smoke-filled estates

Who envisioned my initials in the gates?
Confidential, but these bitches know they place
Count C-notes, kilos like I'm cuttin' cakes
Even Janet Reno know a nigga race

Prince appeal, poppin', sippin' purple rain
Ask me how I feel, I tell you I no longer feel the pain
Kill the game, that's three hundred for the chain
And it don't include the charm just to show you who the king

Hundred cars just to show you we at odds
That's beginnin', how you dress, to your weed in cigars
Stay on the phone, but I limit all remarks
Just remember we the mob and regarded as a god

They want informants on the clique side (clique side)
They wanna know how low the bricks fly (bricks fly)
They wanna know a nigga dick size (check one, two, one, two)
Even though they know I'm livin' big time (big time)

Biggest (Yeah)
It's incredible

Yo, I came home with a connect and got started abruptly
That's five figures off a chick and I bought her Kentucky
We did that twice, then invested in artists that's hungry
To change a young nigga life and launder the money, wait

No handouts, I'm goin' on three summers legit
Machine, Cutter, and West, and me, each one of us rich
Before I did it, they ain't know these numbers exist
A nigga left the plug, then blew up three hundred to six, mmm

Yeah, Forgiatos veerin', smokin' while I'm starin' (while I'm starin')
I don't gotta pick these hoes, they volunteerin' (volunteerin')
Jump out, diamonds glarin', flexin', why they starin'? (Why they starin'?)
I know you wanna take it, so that's why I wear it
I heard they wanna know how much the clique makin'
In this book of life, you can't skip pages
Got my strip quakin' off a wrist, takin' big paper
I'm really in the field, you just Skip Bayless, ah

It's incredible, huh

Been a baller but you never been a base
Just a casket for kilo in a crate
Pray for pastors trapped outside of the gates
Young bastards never tappin' the brakes
Dumb rappers never ownin' the tapes
Just tools and afterparties to make
More beefs and dirty bitches to chase
New shoes, expensive cars to race

Big homes, just pay 'em off at a pace
I threw in the elevators and sat 'em right on a lake
Been in moments the business was at a break
I'm at the fork in the road, which way, Hov or Ma$e?

New crib, now add up all of the bills
The niggas you wanna kill, another slice of the cake
More ice and wiretaps from Vice
Rep double M, they wanna lead a double life

Whack a nigga, need no receipts
Clap a nigga, leave 'em on the seat
Rappers always seem to be the wannabes
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be

Rappers always seem to be the wannabes
It seem like I'm the one they really wanna be
Maybach Music