Two Three - Master P, Rick Ross

I ball like I’m two-three

Bitch I hustle like I’m two-three

I’m on the block like two-three

Bitch I’m back, y’all niggas remember me?

I ball like I’m two-three

Nigga hustle like two-three

I’m on the block like two-three

Now I’m back bitch, y’all remember me?

Michael Jordan of the street shit

So hard, showed you niggas how to eat, bitch

Twenty-three on my muthafuckin' pinky finger

Twenty-three million on the mansion, what you thinkin'?

Pussy nigga, you gon' stop me?

Fake nigga ain’t make me

Twenty-three years old when I got rich

Twenty-three thousand, spend it on an outfit

Versace know me by my muthafuckin' first name

Twenty-three grand, on my fuckin' chain

Twenty-three on muthafuckin' Forbes, nigga

Twenty-three exotic cars in the garage, nigga

Drop from the line, my tongue hang out of my mouth

People rush in the trap, my niggas runnin' 'em out

My lil whoa wanna ball, he keep ski-masking off cars

Holidays around the corner, sold a fake key to his dawg

for the shoot, niggas die on your

See me in that Mpisane, bitch I knock out your noodle

Bought my whoa a Camaro, all my bitches Sahara

I got that make you disappear money, abracadabra

Niggas up in the rafters, it’s the Heat verse the Raptors

We sit with the owners, yeah there go those rappers

I don’t need no tickets, trap jump like it’s Blake Griffin

I’m worth fifty tickets, pussy don’t make no difference