Young Money, syrup in the big shot Time to do the thing thats 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 n-gga in his face knock his nose off Make the girls say my name like a roll call Pain killers got a n-gga bout ta doze off Big shit n-gga talk big sh-t n-gga Big bread bread like a picnic n-gga Shake the whole game like the hit stick n-gga Money spread like germs get sick n-gga Yeaa, And f-ck them other n-ggas, 1 9 hundred who want I deliver Concrete shoes wont help in the river I dont care if you were Michael Phelps my n-gga Im higher than a mothaf-cka alps my n-gga Im flyer than a mothaf-cka stealth my n-gga Young Money sh-t top shelf my n-gga We the mothaf-ckas like Milf my n-gga
UhUhm, Flow like Syringes Yea im in my mode got a code like Da Vinci's I was in the trenches, now im in the trunk And everybody watch your back,wen your in the front You aint never safe stop playin with a gangsta Bring it to his face and he ran like a flanker Bend the girl over put her hands on her ankles Im all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles
Why thank you,if yous a hater Im eatin, yous a waiter http://www.elyricsworld.com/ice_cream_paint_job_lyrics_lil_wayne.html Pistol on my hip, Tomb Raider Holla at your guala, zoom later Young Tune n-gga, typhoon n-gga And if you think your sweet, buy a room n-gga Die or move n-gga, Im on my gang sh-t, She give me good brain like she studied at Cambridge Lightin up a mothaf-cking blunt, stupid fruity swag like a mothaf-cka runt And I be with my dog like a mothaf-cking huntin Everyday of the week is the first day of the month Audemar Piguet with the diamonds in the face Cant tell the time cause the diamonds in the face
We can get it poppin like a semi automatic And if you got beef I put the biscuit on the patty Rockstar tatted, big money addict Running this sh-t now Im feelin athletic I Im on a boat bitch, gettin sea sick Stop playin Im fresher then a degree stick Street sh-t, well of course, I smoke mad weed Im on my high horse, please dont shoot me down, i land feet flat Then walk a million miles with New Orleans on my back Haha, I need a massage, and when it comes to hoes man I got a collage Finger on the button, n-gga just stuntin If you aint the bank teller dont tell me nuntin Kush so strong you can smell me coming B-tch I go hard like the boy from 300 You think ya kick it,well boy we puntin Young Money baby we the sh-t weak stomachs No Ceilings…….Mothaf-ckaTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
