“Maybach Music 3” by Rick Ross featuring T.I., Jadakiss, and Erykah Badu is a well-regarded hip-hop song from Rick Ross’s 2010 album “Teflon Don.” The track showcases impressive rap verses from all the artists, with Erykah Badu adding soulful vocals. Its luxurious production and successful collaboration have earned it praise among hip-hop fans. Check out the Maybach Music III Lyrics, Video, and Download here…
My garage is flawless, under a hundred thou’ ain’t allowed Maybach triple white like I’m riding in a cloud No denim on my seats, baby you gon’ need a towel Ride sexy through the city, see me you will be aroused My bankroll so well endowed, Pull bitches from M-I-A to A-T-L in style And in crowds catch me in town, on the strip in Vegas Chilling, filling bitches faces with babies Bitch bite your tongue, this just ain’t a Mercedes Tell the A.T.F. I’m riding with another 3-80 That’s my car cost, y’all thought I would fall off That was just a small loss, we can have a ball off Fly to N.Y., meet me at the Waldorf Historian architecture Victorian Riding in the past like you’re driving a DeLorean Hard times, never heard of those in the ‘Bach My feet kicked up, get my dick sucked with the curtains closed And for the record kid, my final question is How your bitch gon’ feel in that When you two pull up next to this? Ha ha ha ha, Maybach Music nigga!
Everybody knows, how the story goes Money and the clothes, they gon’ come and go But guess who stays the same? You gon’ see my name Stroll real slow, with the curtains low
Yo, piff that I’m blowing on is fucking up the ozone Plus I keep a dope line similar to Cold Stone’s Ice cream, pipe dreams Is what they have when I pull up in that light thing I put a hurting on, I got the curtains drawn Whoever ain’t getting shitted on, I’m squirting on I’m in the six-deuce, fifty-sevens for the health Chopper in the trunk, .45 for the belt Bunch of wax dummies, all you guys gonna melt Live for your kids, die for yourself Bottles in the sky if you ride for the wealth Peas on the block, pies on the shelf If I ain’t in the back of the ‘Bach, I ain’t in nothing else Haha, I’m something else
Everybody knows how the story goes Money and the clothes, they gon’ come and go But guess who stays the same? You gon’ see the name Stroll real slow
Uh (justice league) Cigar please I came alive like a moth in the summer time Japanese wheel blades all samurai Shine brighter than them bitches on the other side Time to make a blind motherfucker recognize Ammunition got the competition nonexistent Had to bubble crack but didn’t have a pot to piss it I’ll double that, how dare you try to knock a nigga? Street scholar, graduated no father figure Still tote chrome, check my chromosomes Meet me halfway with things and a mobile home Money machines, yeah they ring like a mobile phone I’m a seven-up, I need a coca-cola loan I’m in the hood like I’m James Evans Cashmere hand-made sweater Me and money got a vendetta Looking back, to tell the truth I could’ve did betta’ Parents never had a good job Now it’s Black American Express cards, uh
