Correction Lyrics Own My Masters by Russ

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Lyrics

I done ran up a check, now I'm the one b*t*hes chase after
All these chains on my neck, I'm not a slave, I own my masters
I got that bread and stacked it up
It get put on your head, my dog whacking stuff
I got her head and fell in love
She eat up that d**k, ain't no letting up
This is not a Corvette, my Aventador go way faster
I could flex on my ex, it ain't hard to see my new b*t*h badder
I got 'em hatin' that I leveled up
But I'm rich, so no, I do not give a f**k
Everywhere that I step, it's a pistol tucked
Send onе of your n***as to get one up

Got the gamе in a lock and I won't let up
Jumped fresh out the box and got rich as f**k
Pockets all got a knot, bought the Lamb' off the lot, might f**k around and go buy the Bentley truck
Had to grow up real rough, times used to be tough, but them n***as still hate how I live it up
I was posted in the cut, we ain't on the level up 'til I got off my ass and ran it up
Had to get off my ass and go get it
Lil' n***a but I got big digits
If it come down to beef, I'm with it
You could die 'bout a Tweet, boy, you silly
You can't say sh*t about me, I got a milli'
Whenever I go, my family gon' get it
Could never trip 'bout a ho, soon I hit it, I quit it
Can't be loved, sorry bae, I admit it
Full off them drugs, so the pain, I don't feel it
My b*t*h real bad, I be f**king on a menace
Give me head while I drive, I could wreck, this ain't rented
I'm a god so my windows five-percent tinted
Screaming free Yak, pouring shots of the Henny
All these free bands, gotta custom the bezy
Grown men gossip 'bout the kid like they Winnie
Can't f**k with n***as, no, Jack not friendly

Ain't no way I'ma forfeit this (Nah)
Mailbox money, I'm Forbes list rich (Yeah)
All from a basement in Georgia, it's (True)
Real one, you don't gotta force the sh*t
Got a Florida chick, and of course she is (What?)
Haitian, we takin' the Porsche for a spin (Vroom, vroom)
Blast off, head got me orbitin' (Yeah)
Rewards gonna keep pourin' in (Yeah)
These rappers hardly go (Yikes)
I feed my dreams and I starve these hoes (I do)
I ain't sorry, though (Yeah)
These rappers hardly go (True)
I feed my dreams and I starve these hoes
I ain't sorry, though (f**k 'em)
Workers hatin' on the boss, I don't f**k with y'all either
Say it's lonely at the top, went and bought a two-seater
I might say what Prince told Nas, I ain't trying to do features if you don't own your masters (Ha-ha-ha)

I done ran up a check (Yeah), now I'm the one b*t*hes chase after
All these chains on my neck, I'm not a slave, I own my masters
I got that bread and stacked it up
It get put on your head, my dog whacking stuff
I got her head and fell in love
She eat up that d**k, ain't no letting up
This is not a Corvette, my Aventador go way faster
I could flex on my ex, it ain't hard to see my new b*t*h badder
I got 'em hating that I leveled up
But I'm rich, so no, I do not give a f**k
Everywhere that I step, it's a pistol tucked
Send one of your n***as to get one up

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