Rick Ross, Keith Sweat - Supreme lyrics

I just left the new United States embassy
Somewhere in Georgia it's 109 rooms
I saw 30 bitches and 30 rooms and I
Was on the wrong side of the house oh
Anytime me and Scott Scorch get together
You gotta call us the Illuminati
Whenever you see the G it
Represents God and geometry
That's what the stencil's for
I'ma take you deeper though
Nah, I'm just fuckin' with you
Aye, Scott, I'm just fuckin' with you, baby
Yo

Speedin' in the Ghost on
The phone with jewelers
My new bitch out of DC
Call me Ricky the Ruler
Gotta gather my concentration while
Countin' my stacks
I got eight car notes and just lost me a pack
On the beach, I'm up and down
Women jockin' my ride
300 horses in this bitch
Need a jockey inside
False floors for firearms is
How you should ride
Tried to murder me while in mine
So that's how I survived
My new deal with Def Jam just set me for life
Warner to Chappell to BMI
I'm just rollin' the dice
Big numbers, I'm John Wall
I'm ballin' tonight just jokin'
My sense of humor is like one of a kind
Got them gangstas who on my line
That'll blow out your mind
Got them gangstas who on my line
That'll blow out your mind
Got them gangstas who on my line
That'll blow out your mind
Got them gangstas who on my line
That'll blow out your mind

Tell me it's real tell me this is real, baby
How does it feel? How does it feel?

Geechi Liberace, I’m rich as a bitch
Charm city boys get a whole city of brick
Through the wire we wettin' niggas
Set the shit on fire
My bitch smilin' I wanna bet
Now we on Fisher Isle
Panamera with Tony Draper
Briefcase full of paper
Made a killin' on Martin
Luther James Earl shooter
My niggas, we grew apart
They joined the rival gang
Caught them slippin'
Gave them a pass throwin'
Pistols at survivin' gang
Next time boss gotta turn his back on 'em
Lettin' young boys brrrrat on 'em
Facts, never find me with the fake look
Trappin' little babies, bitch
Just take me to the cakebook
Black bottles, boy
That's how our case of ace look
Your chick, homie, hit homie on the Facebook
Damn, she hit homie on
The motherfuckin' Facebook

Tell me it's real, I wanna know
How does it feel, yeah, how does it feel?

Clean Maybach, but I'm filthy as shit
The partition is for the women
How busy we get
From the scotch, the large mop
Bet the linkin' feel
It's all a dream and never wake
Me up until it's real duffle bags
That's for the homie when he comin' home
He never told and he never used the telephone
He on swole and that nigga need a telephone
In a Range Rover and a real
Nigga got it for him

Hey, hey you wanna know how does it feel
Hey, hey i know, I bet it must feel so real
Hey, hey
Tell me it's real, I wanna know hey hey ey
How does it feel to be so real

You know when hangin' with
Billion dollar niggas
One of the perks is gettin' to
Meet all these billion dollar bitches
I just met a bitch who never gets jetlag
And spent 10 thousand dollars on
Not her best bag you underdig that