No Ceilings..

 

O-Ok, I got this chrome on this Bugatti 

I’m strong in this Bugatti 

Two v8’s ain’t no such thing as driving calm in this Bugatti 

Bitch I’m bad 

I’m worse 

I pass the purp 

Don’t fuck with me ‘cause right now I’m higher than Cap-tain Kirk 

I swear I be the sickest nigga, You can ask the nurse

And if you throw it in the bag, I bet I’ll snatch her purse 

Ok I spazz, I curse 

You last, I’m first 

I’m on your ass- like dirt 

Behind that cash- get murked 

I’m talkin’ big shit nigga- join my hitlist nigga 

What’s the matter? Check your bladder, I’m the shit- piss nigga 

Shoot the witness, nigga 

Whole court in the streets 

And convict this nigga 

Oh, dickless nigga 

Man I’m runnin’ with the blucka 

Young money motherfucka 

You think we gon’ do our thing? 

Well ain’t it sunny in the summer? 

And we coming for the commas 

And whoever among us 

And you know Imma bust my ass until my crew very humongous 

I said T.I. hold ya head 

And Mack hold ya head 

Wish I could, but I can’t say some other names ‘cause of the feds 

And to my bloods- cold red 

Man you know how we plead 

And if it cost to be the boss, oh well, I guess I gotta pay 

I-I’m a New Orleans nigga, I don’t take no shit 

Take the brain off the whip, now it don’t make no sense 

Stunt hard on these bitches, I ain’t promise tomorrow 

Now when they kicking it wit me, like Nomar Garciaparra 

Flute rollin’, killin’ plants, the lil shop of horror

And we roll them bitches thick- make ‘em look like Toccara (Jones)

Man I’m too much for these niggas, and three much for these hoes 

The World is in my hands, and I keep my hands closed 



I love my baby mommas, they get my highest honor 

Gotta take care o’ them kids, Man I know you heard Obama 

And I live on an island, Atlantic in my backyard 

I just tell my pilot- to land it in my backyard 

Quarterback- shotgun, you don’t get any sack yards 

Bitch, I ball hard, breakin’ all the backboards 

Pretty-boy Floyd, step up- I will crack yours 

And even at the White House, we pull up at the back doors 



Walk around, like I’m thirty feet tall 

Tiger Woods- All these hoes tryna birdie these balls 

And the Porche 911, like emergency calls 

Man, I just be chillin’, I’m cool like Lou Rawls 

Young money in the building, I’m puttin’ up new walls 

Nigga, take your Mrs. Officer- and set some new laws 

My flow is like rubbin’ two logs 

Young mula we the new shit, and new drawers 

(Uh) Now get off my dick- I ain’t fuckin’ witcha 

Watch me shoot to the bank, I'm a money pistol 

Weezy beat the beat up, like Sonny Liston 

Redbone do me good, then I friend her sister 

I mean a bitch, she never met her best friend or sister 

I leave her pussy microsoft like Windows Vista 

Young tunche, pop that coochie for a goon, hoe 

Bullet in you boy’s memory, now you act like you dunno 

East side who I do it for- Eagle Street, right by the store 

Katrina wiped the city out- but couldn’t fuck with Hollygrove 

Lost some real niggas, I knew from a long time ago 

But heaven or hell, I hopin’ that they be where Imma go 

Take a nigga gal, and make her come give me a private show 

Still long hair, don’t care, like a Navajo 

I’m the hardest shit- go in your ass and search 

I smash this verse, and I swag and surf 



No Ceilings. 

(Hahaha.)