He did the same shyt on that NaS record, Accident Murders

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
We grew up doing graffiti, now hollow heads getting heated
Seated in foreign cars, constantly getting weeded
Proceeded to count profits, I know they got on binoculars
But fukk em all, we balling 'til they come lock us up
20 to life; I'm clubbing, blowing 20 tonight
We the mob, Bob Marley Marlin' all through the night
Addicted to wealth, never cold turkey to war
Snatch a TEC off the shelf, live forever; that's Insh'Allah
Memoirs of a rich nikka
Sweat suits, gold chains, old drug dealers
New Benz, chrome rims are for show, killer
You nikkas accidental, shoppers in back of the limo
Pay your tithes, stay alive, can't be dodging my clique
Cut a check; I use your bytch for some bargaining chips
In a hole, sell your home, nikka go sell your soul
This forty-five in control, God forgives and I don't