Rich Homie Quan ft. Rick Ross - Think About It Lyrics

Damn man (Nard & B)
I done just woke up
A fuckin' 'nother day, another dollar, another bitch
(Trenchwerk) and another bankroll, hey

I take my hustle state to state, say I go different places
I shake a lot of hands, do shows and I see different faces
I smoke a blunt then close my eyes because my mental racing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it
I pulled the floor up, put marble down, it need renovatin'
Open the safe, see them rubberbands on them bigger faces
I done bought everything that I ever wanted but it's still empty spaces
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it

I watch my cousin the kitchen, he like a slave whipped (he whip it up)
My uncle died from that needle, yeah it was AIDS nigga (my Uncle Roy)
Turner Field might be gone but I'm still brave nigga (say what)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it
That money counter count it for me, I'ma made man (that money baby)
I told my buddy, "Don't reneg," like a spades hand (I don't renig)
These Cartiers but they used to be some Ray Bans (rich homie)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it
Everyday I'm Sunday fresh, I talk that shit just like a preacher (I talk that shit)
Niggas merge into my lane just like a car without a blinker (skkkrrrt)
They don't hear what I'm sayin', they like a car without no speakers (that right too)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it

I take my hustle state to state, say I go different places
I shake a lot of hands, do shows and I see different faces
I smoke a blunt then close my eyes because my mental racing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it
I pulled the floor up, put marble down, it need renovatin'
Open the safe, see them rubberbands on them bigger faces (it's the biggest)
I done bought everything that I ever wanted but it's still empty space
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it

Reservations at Chops, Lamborghinis no tops
Menages for lunch, Ferraris out front
We might fuck on the lake, so much paper to make
Rubberbands on the hundreds, sip Rosé in the bank
I made her quit her job, Moschino, she's a star
Versace in the fall, Gucci, I keep her raw
She so clean and Celine, pussy cute as could be
I like to take photos, I just to keep 'em for me
Flatline, fuck her 'till that pussy dead (the biggest)
Keep her off that social media a couple day
She went and got it tatted, said a nigga name
She know I got her back, I mean a million ways

I take my hustle state to state, say I go different places
I shake a lot of hands, do shows and I see different faces
I smoke a blunt then close my eyes because my mental racing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it
I pulled the floor up, put marble down, it need renovatin'
Open the safe, see them rubberbands on them bigger faces
I done bought everything that I ever wanted but it's still empty space
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, think about it