Lil Wayne
Lil Wayne - Ice Cream Paint Job songtekst
Je score:
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 nigga in his face knock his nose off Make the girls say my name like a roll call Pain killers got a nigga bout ta 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 Yeaa, And fuck them other niggas, 1 9 hundred who want It, I deliver Concrete shoes wont help in the river I dont care if you were Michael Phelps my nigga I'm higher than a mothafucka Alps my nigga I'm flyer than a mothafucka stilt my nigga Young Money shit top shelf my nigga We them mothafuckas like Milf my nigga UhUhm, Flow like Syringes Yea I'm in my mode got a code like Da Vinci I was in the trenches, now I'm in the trunk And everybody watch your back, when your in the front You ain't 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 I'm all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles Why thank yous, if you a hater I'm eatin, yous a waiter Pistol on my hip, Tomb Raider Holla at your guala, zoom later Young Tune nigga, typhoon nigga And if you think its sweet, buy a room nigga Die or move nigga, Im on my gang shit, She give me good brain like she studied at Cambridge Lightin up a mothafucking blunt, Stupid fruity swag like a mothafucka runt And I be with my dog like a mothafucking hunt and everyday of the week is the first day 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 poppin like a semi automatic And if you got beef I put the biscuit on the patty Rockstar tatted, big money addict Running this shit now Im feelin athletic I I'm on a boat bitch, gettin sea sick Stop playin Im 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 Haha, I need a massage, And when it comes to hoes man I got a collage Finger on the button, nigga just stuntin' If you ain't the bank teller don't tell me nuntin Kush so strong you can smell me coming bitch I go hard like the boy from 300 You think ya kick it, well boy we puntin Young Money baby we the shit weak stomachs No Ceilings....Mothafucka