I Don't Like The Look Of It
Ok Im sippin on the syrup
Got a n-gga moving slow
Im all about the money
What the f-ck you think I do it for
B-tch dont act like you dont know
Im killing all these rap n-ggas
Custom made caskets for you muthaf-cka funerals
Keep the women with me
Sh-t I gotta keep like two or more
Party everyday like we won the f-cking Superbowl
Chillin wit my n-gga Mack, he keep b-tches handy
White girl on the table love them sniff nose candy
When Im walking by the women say "Who is that n-gga?"
I replied "Hi, I am Gudda Gudda that n-gga"
I was raised in the home of da Cap Splitters
Whip on 24′s watch it crawl like a caterpillar
I come with a toy boy like a Happy Meal
And yous a muthaf-ckin duck, Daffy Dill
Im from the school of Hard Knocks, where we scrap and kill
Pick the knife or gunner, you can get the package deal
Im hot n-gga, burning everything around me
I was lost for a minute took a while but I found me
The streets say Im King but the game will never crown me
Realist n-gga doin it just ask the n-ggas around me
So you cant size me up or try to clown uh
Shark in the water jump in and Imma drown ya
New Orleans n-gga, Gun out, Imma down ya
Put n-ggas to sleep like a muthaf-ckin downer
Imma Great White, yous a flounder
Fish and a b-tch I tuna eveything around ya
U-Haul Gudda, moving everything around ya
Its Young Money Bitch
At the top is where they found us
Uhh, Goons on deck
Marley dont shoot em
Silence on the gun
Watch a n-gga mute em
The coach in the booth
Call me Jon Gruden
School these n-ggas, they all my students
All jokes aside, I aint playin wit cha
The weed broke down, like a transmission
Tha choppa spin him round, like a ballerina
B-tch Im still spittin like I ate a Jalapeño
Im from uptown, my bitch from Argentina
My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena
Stunt so hard, its all yall fault
And when it come to beef give me A1 Sauce
I aint worryin bout sh-t, Everything paid out
You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wades house
Wit a high yellow thick b-tch wit her legs out
Cash Money president but we in a red house
Who the f-ck want it? Make my f-ckin day
I blow your candles out, now n-gga cut that cake
I gotta eat bitches, like a run-away
Yall n-ggas aint eatin, stomach ache
Ok, all these b-tches, And n-ggas still hatin
I used to be ballin, But now Im Bill Gaten
F-ckin with my iPhone, bumpin Illmatic
Im on the road to riches, theres just a lil traffic
Hair still platted, thuggin is a habbit
Keep my guitar, Hip-Hop Lenny Kravitz
Bunch of bad b-tches and I f-ck em like rabbits
Dope d-ck Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, Uhh