Hard Piano Pusha T (Ft. Rick Ross)

[Verse 1: Pusha T]
Never trust a bitch who finds love in a camera
She will fuck you, then turn around and fuck a janitor
Set the parameters
You either with the pro ballers or the amateurs
I won't let you ruin my dreams or Harvey Weinstein the kid
Good mornin', Matt Lauer—can I live?
Look at my new digs
The rooftop can host a paint-and-sip for, like, forty
The Warhols on my wall paint a war story
Had to find other ways to invest
'Cause you rappers found every way to ruin Pateks
It's a nightmare, yeah
I'm too rare amongst all of this pink hair, ooh!
Still do the Fred Astaire on a brick
Tap-tap, throw the phone if you hear it click
Art Basel-in' the bezel
Your bustdown is bust-down and don't match the metal
Lower level's where you settle at
I'm the pot callin' the kettle black
Where there's no brake pedals at
Between God and where the Devil's at
Had to double-dutch and double back
Then hopscotch through where the trouble's at
Exactly what the game's been missin'
This fire burns hot as Hell's Kitchen
Push!