Artist: Lil Wayne
Mixtape: No Ceilings
Year: 2009
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[Lil Wayne]
Young Money, syrup in the big shot
Time to do the thing that’s word to your wrist watch
Shoot the glock till it burn till my wrist lock
Rims hella big, tires skinny like Chris Rock
Ho-hold the gun sideways like O’Dogg
Shoot a nigga in his face knock his nose off
Make the girls say my name like a roll call
Pain killers got a nigga about to doze off
Big shit nigga, talk big shit nigga
Big bread, bread like a picnic nigga
Shake the whole game like the hit stick nigga
Money spread like germs, get sick nigga
Yeah, and fuck them other niggas
1 9 hundred who want it? I deliver
Concrete shoes won’t help in the river
I don’t care if you was Michael Phelps my nigga
I’m higher than the motherfucking Alp’s my nigga
I’m flyer than a motherfucking stealth my nigga
Yo-Young Money shit, top shelf my nigga
We the motherfucker’s like MILF my nigga
Uh um, flow like syringes
Yeah I’m in my mode got a code like Da Vinci’s
I was in the trenches, now I’m in the trunk
And everybody watch your back, when you’re in the front
You ain’t never safe stop playing with a gangster
Bring it to his face and he ran like a flanker
Bend the girl over put her hands on her ankles
I’m all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles
Why thank you, if you’s a hater
I’m eating, you’s a waiter
Pistol on my hip, Tomb Raider
Holla at your gualla, soon later
Young Tune nigga, typhoon nigga
And if you think it’s sweet, buy a room nigga
Damu nigga, I’m on my gang shit
She give me good brain like she studied at Cambridge
Lighting up a motherfucking blunt
Stupid fruity swag like a motherfucking runt
And I be with my dog like a motherfucking hunter
Every day of the week is the first of the month
Audemar Piguet with the diamonds in the face
Can’t tell the time cause the diamonds in the face
We can get it popping like a semi-automatic
And if you got beef I put the biscuit on the patty
Rock star tatted, big money addict
Running this shit now I’m feeling athletic
I-I’m on a boat bitch, getting sea sick
Stop playing I’m fresher then a degree stick
Street shit, well of course, I smoke mad weed
I’m on my high horse, please don’t shoot me down, I land feet flat
Then walk a million miles with New Orleans on my back haa
I need a massage, and when it comes to hoes man I gotta collage
Finger on the button, nigga just stunting
If you ain’t the bank teller don’t tell me nothing
Kush so strong you can smell me coming
Bitch I go hard like the boy from 300
You think y’all kick it, well boy we punting
Young Money baby we the shit, weak stomachs
No Ceilings
Motherfucker
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