Busta Rhymes - BEACH BALL Lyrics

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops (sho')
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (Hitmaka)

Uh, tell these hoes to kick rocks
Bitch ride a boat like it's a seesaw
Check your bags and your pussy-girl 'fore you depart (ho)
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
Dolce & Gabana, spoil him in Neiman Marcus
Bitch put a cop down, why you keep coughin'?
Put her in the ocean, bet she suck at beach ball (ball)
Hoes moving up and down, seasaw (saw)
Give me backshots, now it's back to D.R (yup)
Fly you out to P.R., can't put you in no Dior (D)
Look into my eyes, you could tell I want a D boy (D)
Poppin' wheelies on that dick, he thinkin' I'm from B'more
We should've been friends but I know you wanna be more (hey)
Touch my first M, niggas know I gotta see more (sheesh)
Seen your nigga in my ends and you know I had to detour
Flew in first class just to sit up by the seashore (sheesh)
You can't f*ck me in no G4

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops (Buss)
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (BIA, BIA)

Look, see, I inflated the plot
Ever since the day of crack sales I upgraded the block, nigga
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
Louis and that Gucci make her bug and Birked off
And drag me to a dressing room and give me top until she coughin'
Waterfallin', suckin' on these beach balls
And all these bitches walkin' round me talkin' 'bout, "I miss you"
Never kiss 'em but I always hit 'em back to D.R
Shawty, yes, I see ya, who the f*ck you thinkin' we are?
Think you 'bout to come up? See, them thoughts, you better ignore
F*ck you think you're foolin' tryna come off like a sweetheart?
Think we more than homies? You's a motherf*ck-
F*ck these records up in ways you've never seen it before
Bustin' everybody ass on records when I record 'em
Light shinin', nigga, lookin' at me like, "Is he God?"
A-ha, make sure your in your shit when we start

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops (sho')
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (Ross)

Uh, tell these hoes to kick rocks
Bitch ride a boat like it's a seesaw
Check your bags and your pussy-girl 'fore you depart (ho)
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
Louis and that Gucci make her bug and Birked off
And drag me to a dressing room and give me top until she coughin'
Waterfallin', suckin' on these beach balls
And all these bitches walkin' round me talkin' 'bout, "I miss you"
Give me backshots, now it's back to D.R