Where My Money
Rick Ross Lyrics
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Where my money? I need, I need, I need cash
Where my money? I need, I need, I need cash
Where my money? I need, I need, I need cash
Where my money? You don't wanna be the one I blast (Ross)
Where my money? You don't wanna be the one I blast (Ross)
Where my money? You don't wanna be the one I blast (Ross)
Where my money? You don't wanna be the one I blast (Ross)
Where my money?
Never try me like a thug
If you do you better duck
I'ma hit em' in his body,
Somebody patching you up
I'ma bust a nigga head,
Somebody wrapping you up
When I ask you for ma shit,
Nigga am I asking too much?
Ridin' dirty in ma Seven deuce
Its dirty, you can tell the truth
I'm dirtier than a reverend
Fighting internal revenue
I'ma get mine,
You can call me Uncle Sam
Used ya for your services,
And I don't give a damn
Slap bush with ma stash
All these taxes and this cash
Got these bitches selling ass
Homicide for the cash
Homicide for the cash
Riding around gunning mass
Summertime son of Sam
Triple C gon gun you down
Twenty birds on this surb
Posted up on the curb
Got a lot of pistol game
So we at ya A-Day
If you owe me a dime
Boy you better give me mine
Cause I'm pulling ma nine
With one thing that's on ma mind
Still waiting on the call
Homie supposed to be my dog
It done been more then a week
He caught himself running off
Yea he bought two, two
But I fronted another three, three
But I'ma get him marked off
For no less than a quarter key
Yea I broke him off,
Now I gotta break him off
He think he using his head,
I gotta take it off
Therefore I'm loosing his head
And then I'm taking off
Mashing in the grand national
Wont break it off
Lemme break it down
I see fifty off a chicken
Every time I break it down
Bad little Bitches shake it
When they break it down
Lemme break it down
I Broke it down,
To the smallest slab
Cause I'm so fat
I got the fiends calling cabs
I'm out here for my stacks
I'm out here for my stacks
From the side of the bridge,
You gotta cross the tracks
Dade county D Boyz at yo front door
Three in the morning and ya know what they knocking fo'
I'm like a professor,
I weigh and I measure
Triple beam on the dresser
Couldn't be fresher
Cookin's my pleasure
Cookies my treasure
Hustle couldn't be better
Muscle you couldn't measure
Niggas feeling the pressure
Pressure they bust pipes
I'm cool with your bitch
Your bitch fuck nice
(See I need that)
Fly hoes on my team
(See I need that)
My hoes will gimmie anything
Grinding back in Savana
Climbing back through Atlanta
Shoot the making, See what shaking
My shit white as Miss Vanna
Its Rick Ross
Rolls-royce when I floss
I'ma big boss
And I never took a loss
(See I need that)
(See I need that)
I might of took a loss
But it wasn't like that (Ross)
So I'm back on my grizzle
Got the streets on sizzle
Its Ricky Rizzle
The rich nizzle
The rich nizzle
Now bitch
The lyrics to Rick Ross's song Where My Money are a testament to his tough and unyielding persona. The song paints a picture of a man who means business, and anyone who owes him money better cough it up soon or face the consequences. Ross repeatedly asks the question "where my money?", leaving no room for misunderstanding. He makes it clear that the people who owe him money had better come up with the cash fast, or they'll be met with violence.
Throughout the song, Ross is unapologetic about his love for money and his willingness to go to great lengths to get it. He raps about "riding dirty" and having "pistol game," emphasizing that he won't hesitate to use violence to get what he's owed. At the same time, he portrays himself as a savvy businessman, using phrases like "used you for your services" to convey a sense of control over his financial situation.
Overall, Ross's lyrics in Where My Money are intense and unrelenting, speaking to his reputation as one of the most formidable figures in the world of rap.
Line by Line Meaning
Where my money? I need, I need, I need cash
Asking for owed money, doesn't want to be kept waiting
You don't wanna be the one I blast (Ross)
Giving a warning, threatening to use force to get what's owed
Never try me like a thug
Don't test me, don't take me for granted
Ridin' dirty in ma Seven deuce
Driving around illegally, not afraid to take risks
I'm dirtier than a reverend Fighting internal revenue
Doing illegal activities, like tax evasion
Homicide for the cash
Will do anything to get the money owed, even if it involves violence
If you owe me a dime Boy you better give me mine
You better pay your debts, or face the consequences
Still waiting on the call Homie supposed to be my dog
Waiting to get paid, expecting loyalty from those you help out
Yea he bought two, two But I fronted another three, three But I'ma get him marked off For no less than a quarter key
He owes money, but keeps buying more while not paying back original debt
Dade county D Boyz at yo front door Three in the morning and ya know what they knocking fo'
Collecting debt in the middle of the night, with force if needed
Muscle you couldn't measure Niggas feeling the pressure Pressure they bust pipes
You don't know the extent of what I'm capable of, people feeling the strain from the pressure to pay
It done been more then a week He caught himself running off Yea he bought two, two
Tired of waiting for payment, suspects someone is avoiding payment
My hoes will gimmie anything Grinding back in Savana Climbing back through Atlanta
Women are willing to do anything for him, traveling to different places for business
Its Rick Ross Rolls-royce when I floss I'ma big boss And I never took a loss
He's wealthy, successful, and doesn't experience financial loss
I'm like a professor I weigh and I measure Triple beam on the dresser
Careful measuring and calculating, using a triple beam scale to measure drugs
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written by: William Roberts, Jermaine Jackson, Andrew Harr
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind