Smoking Pt. 2 Lyrics by French Montana
(Feat. Max B & Rick Ross)
*** Boys, *** Boys
*** bad ***, smoke big blunts
Who am I to tell you different? You only live once
Stack riches, toting big drums
And *** who tell you different, ***, we the ones
You must be going blind
You know I love it
Water fall on the wall, don’t you get amazed
Max B home, you can hear the waves
*** boy born for the center stage
Twenty Maybachs on the interstate
Diamonds on my neck like I’m Mufasa
One Tupac, *** 2 Hoppas
Big Mobb ***, guess who shot you
Top down, paka paka paka paka
Spent 5 million for the wrist wear
My *** ***, yeah, and I’m talking this year
You got the same watch that my *** wear
And my Virgil Air 1s on my sixth pair
My niggas in a bar smokin’ smoke
Got my niggas in the car smokin’ smoke
We got the bars open, waiting on niggas to come
(Waiting on niggas to come)
Yeah, ***, my bars are wavy
***, even those stars pays me
We working hard, baby, waiting on niggas to come
(Waiting on niggas to come)
Jose
Don Velli
Montana
They ain’t with us on the ride, gotta watch ’em sink
Hit the stu’, grab the pen, it’s the holy ghost of chinx
Got a yellow, got a rose, got a white gold
My chest like Shaquille from the line, ice cold
And you can ask the New York streets, we the culture
From the mud to the platinum albums, I done told you
Fourth quarter shooter in the three-quarter mink
Before my music hit the movies, been the legend with the syncing
Riding ’round with the gang, if they eat, I eat
I ain’t get rich at once, got it piece by piece (*** Boys)
Making hit after hit, we in the trophy room
Cosmos, French Riviera, coming soon
My niggas in a bar smokin’ smoke
Got my niggas in the car smokin’ smoke
We got the bars open, waiting on niggas to come
(Waiting on niggas to come)
Yeah, ***, my bars are wavy
***, even those stars pays me
We working hard, baby, waiting on niggas to come
(Waiting on niggas to come)
Jose, what’s good?
Montana, let’s go
Yo, my *** slaps on the coast of Dubai
Got a license to ***, I got a license to drive
Point 5, my drive won’t find my strive
It’s the real Don Veli, I don’t hide my shots
Sport thousand-dollar shades when I hide my eyes
And I always give ’em ways every time I try
Aye, pops, yo’ boy brave, at times, I cry
And I wear a seat belt every time I ride
I, no doubt, took a *** whole route
Take a look at my concerts, the *** is sold out
The hell with the slow routes, the hell with the rollouts
You rap ***’s ass with no clout
Can’t see me
You must be going blind