[Intro]
I don’t like the look of it
[Verse 1: 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’ with 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-dil
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 (Gudda)
The streets say I’m king but the game’ll never crown me (Gudda)
Realest nigga doin’ it, just ask them niggas ’round me (Gudda)
So you can’t size me up or try to clown a—
Shark in the water, jump in and I’ma drown you
New Orleans nigga, gun out, I’ma down you
Put niggas to sleep like a muh’fuckin’ downer (Gudda)
I’m a Great White, you’s a flounder
Fish and a bitch, I tuna eveything around you
U-Haul Gudda, movin’ everything around you (Yeah)
It’s Young Money, bitch! At the top is where they found us, nigga
[Verse 2: 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
The chopper spin him ’round, like a ballerina
Bitch, I’m still spittin’ like I ate a jalape-na
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 with 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 Gate-in’
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
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