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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Lil Wayne
Lil Wayne
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Daniel Klein
Daniel Klein
Songwriter
Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.
Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.
Songwriter
Matthew Campfield
Matthew Campfield
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Some Randoms
Some Randoms
Producer
Matthew Testa
Matthew Testa
Engineer
Manny Galvez
Manny Galvez
Engineer
Jason Delattiboudere
Jason Delattiboudere
Assistant Recording Engineer
Fabian Marasciullo
Fabian Marasciullo
Mixing Engineer
Thomas McLaren
Thomas McLaren
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Colin Leonard
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer
Colin Leonard
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

What's good, brother? Beat 'round the bush and I'ma come around With a bush cutter and look for you You niggas talkin' too much shit I'm about to find a good plumber Y'all lil' niggas is some foot soldiers, I'm a foot fungus You dead, brother I ain't a killer, but don't push me, like a red button The gun headbutt you like "Bang, bang, bang, bang" 'Til your heart stop drummin' I shoot you while the sun don't shine, this a hot summer But fall dawg, I knock a wall off with this sawed-off This bitch sound like a hard cough I'm a wizard with this motherfucker like I went to Hogwarts Cut the hog head and the tail off I'm the nigga bitches put a spell on And once it wear off, then, bitch, don't touch me like a airball Say slime, I done ate slime, money tall like 8'9' But I'm still starvin' like a Skinny model in LA slime, that plate mine Hooded up like Trayvon, no FaceTime I don't FaceTime with my new thang New Tang clan, like Raekwon, I'm stupid, nigga Dumb, deaf, brazy, cray-cray, blind But I still see in the dark, nigga Dark nigga, Akon I'm on my shit like maggots And they then they grow and they fly Got real bitches with fake asses With real views and fake eyes It's stupid, I'm stupid I'm out of my coofin, narcotic abuser No needles, 'cause my pockets balloonin' Your partners is poodles Your bears is cubs, your crocodile's toothless Titty-fuck your baby mama She breastfeed your child while I do it, I'm stupid Your crocodile's toothless Titty-fuck your baby mama She breastfeed your child while I do it, I looped it (Mama Mia) I'm out of my Tunechi, I'm mindin' my Tunechi I'm shinin' my Uzi They find 'em, I lose 'em, I'm hidin' out Hopin' I don't smell like all these fuckin' vaginas I'm douchin' Droppin' these jewels, it's precious like I'm droppin' my jewelry I'm out of my Gucci, you not on my Gucci, that's not an exclusive Designers, excuse me, massagers masseuse me Oops, I mean masseuses massage me, I'm gruesome, I'm grimey Turn you and lil' mami, to tuna salami You pukin', she vomit, that's beautiful science That's Tune in a Masi', that's who in a Hyundai You stupid or drowsy? I pew in the 'Gatti Pew, pew and I got 'em Pew, pew and I got 'em, Lil' Tunechi a shotta Come through with my shottas Catch you and your thotta Turn a nigga noodle to nada Find it amusin', it's like it's a movie This life is a movie, you died in the movie I write and produce it I cried as I view it, I'm lyin', I'm goofin' I'm tyin' my nooses Lightin' my fluids, ignitin' influence, wait Retire like Ewings, I'm high like I flew in And my wife lookin' Jewish, wait My money look Arabic, blunt lookin' Cuban My eyes look Korean, the coke look Peruvian, wait She European and she from Aruba, she from the States Ass overseas, pussy foreign food, we over-ate We throw them B's up high as the moon, Suwoo in space I come from Mars, but I act like I'm from the Planet of the Apes Mansion with a gate with some nice landscapes The Atlantic across the way Don't ask me what I make, I'ma be answerin' all day Got a hammock, I'ma lay with a naked bitch With just a bandana on her face And I just psstt, took off, errr, and landed on her face I cannonballed her face Fuck her to some Diana Rossin' faint Damn, I lost the faith Don't judge me, I took the stand and fought the case You can't avoid the Drac' Drip Bayless, I'm feelin' Shannon Sharpe today Big rocks in my mouth Can't remember how many asteroids I ate Your pastor called today I told him that your casket on the way Now pass the phone to bae I'm bringin' a pole, you dancin' on his grave He faker than the lashes on his babe I'm like lashes on a slave I'm ashin' on his head He ain't got no credit and his Apple card is dead What's in your wallet? (Mama Mia) Funeral
Writer(s): Dwayne Carter, Daniel Klein, Matt Campfield Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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