(
Bangladesh
)
Young Money
You dig?
Yeah, Mack, I’m goin’ in
A millionaire, I’m a Young Money millionaire
Tougher than Nigerian hair (Woo)
My criteria compared to your career just isn’t fair
I’m a venereal disease, like a menstrual bleed
Through the pencil and leak on the sheet of the tablet in my mind
‘Cause I don’t write shit ’cause I ain’t got time
‘Cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the almighty dollar
And the almighty power of that ch-cho-cho-cho-chopper
Sister, brother, son, daughter, father, mother-fuck a copper
Got the Maserati dancin’ on the bridge, pussy poppin’
Tell the coppers, “Ha-ha-ha-ha, you can’t catch him, you can’t stop him”
I go by them goon rules, if you can’t beat ’em, then you pop ’em
You can’t man ’em, then you mop ’em
You can’t stand ’em, then you drop ’em
You pop ’em ’cause we pop ’em like Orville Redenbacher
Motherfucker, I’m ill, yeah
A million here, a million there
Sicilian bitch with long hair, with coke in her derrière
Like smoking the thinnest air, I open the Lamborghini
Hopin’ them crackers see me, like, “Look at that bastard Weezy”
He’s a beast, he’s a dog, he’s a motherfuckin’ problem
Okay, you’re a goon, but what’s a goon to a goblin?
Nothin’, nothin’, you ain’t scarin’ nothin’
On some faggot bullshit, call ’em Dennis Rodman
Call me what you want, bitch, call me on my sidekick
Never answer when it’s private, damn, I hate a shy bitch
Don’t you hate a shy bitch? Yeah, I ate a shy bitch
She ain’t shy no more, she changed her name to my bitch, haha
Yeah, nigga, that’s my bitch
So when she ask for the money when you through, don’t be surprised, bitch (Woo)
And it ain’t trickin’ if you got it
But you like a bitch with no ass, you ain’t got shit
Motherfucker, I’m ill, not sick
And I’m okay, but my watch sick
Yeah, my drop sick, yeah, my Glock sick
And my knot thick, I’m it
Motherfucker, I’m ill, yeah
See, they say I’m rappin’ like B.I.G., Jay, and 2Pac
André 3000, where is Erykah Badu at? Who that?
Who that said they gon’ beat Lil Wayne?
My name ain’t Bic, but I keep that flame, man
Who that one that do that, boy? You knew that, chew that, swallow
And I be the shit, now you got loose bowels
I don’t owe you like two vowels
But I would like for you to pay me by the hour, haha
And I’d rather be pushin’ flowers
Than to be in the pen, sharin’ showers, huh
Tony told us this world was ours
And the Bible told us every girl was sour
Don’t play in her garden and don’t smell her flower
Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower
Boy, I got so many bitches, like I’m Mike Lowrey
Even Gwen Stefani said she couldn’t doubt me
Motherfucker, I say, “Life ain’t shit without me”
Chrome lips pokin’ out the coupe, look like it’s poutin’
I do what I do, and you do what you can do about it
Bitch, I can turn a crack rock into a mountain, dare me
Don’t you compare me ’cause there ain’t nobody near me
They don’t see me, but they hear me
They don’t feel me, but they fear me, I’m illy
C3, 3 Peat, hahaha
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