Rick Rock - Professional Ballers lyrics

[Marvaless] Yeah, ladies first so watch me set it off, even the brothers can't touch us Professional Ballers is what they call us, ain't no tellin who we're bailin Kentucky, Texas, ATL strikin in a Lexus The n***a that wanna test this Thought this sh** was shut down, thought this sh** was dead like Makaveli Cali legends keep it goin, bout this player sh** I'm knowin Haters, I know you're bumpin this sh** so here's another *?daltz?* From the Bay to the SCC, you heard us straight from California's most [Pizzo] We don't need no practice, no theatrics Bout the way we be livin with the Mafia tactics, I be constantly at it Tryin to stack my riches like Bill Gates Servin raw and uncut caine so you can't hate Because it angers me when n***as try to bite my a** But we be Professional Ballers hittin at the top-notch a** Pa** the green leaf on the left, inhale a breath of chronic smoke Exhale like a pro, I be too much for you to cope Chorus: C-Bo We steady countin our money, on a mission to ball All the things we dream we wanna see before we call So we pack heavy, push Chevy's, makin the 'fetti If you're ready to holler at a Professional Baller *repeat* [Mac Mall] Baby Capone on the loose, skywalk and fly sh** Off Paraguay, Glock in the drop plus we're hidin Astronauts, turnin in sh** for the soldiers that recop Shoot outta state pushin k**er Cali rocks Big wreckin ball nuts and you can notify the monks I be flossin in gators, maybe ??? ??? Tennis shoes, press our sh** Aliens gank and flew, runnin out to see you With the loot Interlude: k**a Tay Yeah West Coast Mafia, b**h Everybody else can s** a dick [k**a Tay] I'm steadily tryin to get my bail on Tapped me up on the cell phone, it ain't far Stomped in steel toes, I look out my ??? so back up off me The K-I-double L-A T-A-Y, call me the locster Only smokes the bombest chronic, Professional Ballers like the Sonics Respect game, with or without these gold chains We're sure the West got sh** sold From the rap game to the c**aine, come get some Got pounds like a kick drum, got hitmen Payin em under the table, lyrics fatal like a ninja No pretendin, we're steady ballin Chorus [C-Bo] From the Valley to the Bay, I'm known for stackin chips My 500 whip be hip with the AMG hit '74 drop Caprice, gold ones dip Candy-coated sport, Professional Ballers don't trip Makin moves, pushin luxuries to ol' schools I spit the A-1, that's why my pockets weigh a tonne And my crew be Mafioso's, high performance and low-lows Professional Ballers on the go and get more doe [JT Tha Bigga Figga] Who keep it knockin with mean choppers? My n***as keep it poppin We're rockin, Professional Ballers, Figga-Ro will be the tallest Player that you spot, duck or dodge? It's all, turn the Impalas all skirty Left em deserted, heat em where their pockets hurted Sold it up by then, two quarters and half a flynn With my n***a Bo-Loc in the 500 Benz Ready to bust and make it happen fo' sho', so stack G's With them 8-ball gangstas And the young mack knees and that's for sheez Chorus