Rick Ross — Itchin

[Intro: Rick Ross] [?] [Verse 1: Rick Ross] I whip my heron with milk All my boxers be silk You pussy niggas should chill We keep the city on tilt I put on for my wolves down for my area code We hit a lick, you go to prison -- gotta bury your dope Respected highly, my nigga Joey i.e., my nigga So high with my niggas Selassie ahi, my nigga I recite only lethal, yet I'm labelled a poet I get high in the cathedral and I feel so important How I'm popping them bands, you man just won't stop I fucked her in France, came out on top If she wanted a bite, if she named the spot But me being the boss, I took her straight to Wingstop [Hook: Future] They itching, they itching, they itching for that paper My fingers, they itching, they itching for that paper Riding 'round the city and I got that calculator I'm a motherfucking monster when it come to getting that paper