Paroles de la chanson I Don't Like the Look of It par Lil Wayne

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Paroles de la chanson I Don't Like the Look of It par Lil Wayne

I don't like the look of it

[Gudda Gudda]
Okay, I'm sippin on the syrup, got a nigga movin slow
I'm all about the money, what the fuck you think I do it for?
Bitch don't act like you don't know, I'm killin all these rap niggas
Custom made caskets for yo' motherfuckin funeral
Keep the women with me, shit I gotta keep like two or more
Party everyday, like we won the fuckin Super Bowl
Chillin wit my nigga Mack, he keep bitches handy
White girl on the table, let 'em sniff the nose candy
When I'm walkin by, the women sayin, "Who is that nigga?"
I replied, "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda, that nigga!"
I was raised in the home of the cap splitters
Whip on 24's, watch it crawl like a caterpillar
I come with a toy boy like a Happy Meal
And you's a motherfuckin duck, Daffy Dill
I'm from the school of hard knocks, where we scrap and kill
Pick the knife or gun or you can get the package deal
I'm hot nigga, burnin everything around me
I was lost for a minute, took a while but I found me
The streets say I'm king but the game'll never crown me
Realest nigga doin it just ask the niggas 'round me
So you cain't size me up or try to clown, uh
Shark in the water, jump in and I'mma drown ya
New Orleans nigga, gun out, I'mma down ya
Put niggas to sleep like a muthafuckin downer
I'm a Great White, you'se a flounder
Fish and a bitch, I tuna eveything around ya
U-Haul Gudda, movin everything around ya
It's Young Money, bitch! At the top is where they found us, nigga

[Lil Wayne]
Uh, goons on deck, Marley don't shoot 'em
Silence on the gun, watch a nigga mute 'em
The coach in the booth, call me Jon Gruden
School these niggas, they all my students
All jokes aside, I ain't playin with ya
The weed broke down, like a transmission
Tha chopper spin him 'round, like a ballerina
Bitch I'm still spittin like I ate a jalapeno
I'm from uptown, my bitch from Argentina
My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena
Stunt so hard, it's all y'all fault
And when it come to beef, give me A1 Sauce
I ain't worryin 'bout shit, everything paid out
You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade house
With a high yellow thick bitch wit her legs out
Cash Money president, but we in a red house
Who the fuck want it? Make my fuckin day
I blow your candles out, now nigga cut the cake
I gotta eat, bitch! Like a runaway
Y'all niggas ain't eatin, stomach ache
Okay, all these bitches, and niggas still hatin
I used to be ballin, but now I'm Bill Gatein
Fuckin with my iPhone, bumpin' Illmatic
I'm on the road to riches, there's just a lil' traffic
Hair still platted, thuggin is a habit
Keep my guitar, hip hop Lenny Kravitz
Bunch of bad bitches and I fuck 'em like rabbits
Dope dick Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, uh dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)

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