Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch Ahem excuse my charisma, vodka with a spritzer Swagger down pat, call my shit Patricia Young Money militia, and I am the commissioner You don't want start Weezy, 'cause the F is for Finisher So misunderstood, but what's a world without enigma? Two bitches at the same time, synchronized swimmers Got the girl twisted 'cause she open when you twist her Never met the bitch, but I f**k her like I missed her Life is the bitch, and death is her sister Sleep is the cousin, we're a f**kin' family picture You know father time, we all know mother nature It's all in the family, but I am of no relation No matter who's buying, I'm a celebration Black and white diamonds, f**k segregation F**k that shit, my money up, you n***as just Honey Nut Young Money running shit and you n***as just runner-ups I don't feel I done enough, so I'ma keep on doing this shit Lil Tunechi or Young Tunafish Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch I'm going back in Okay, I lost my mind, it's somewhere out there stranded I think you stand under me if you don't understand me Had my heart broken by this woman named Tammy But hoes gon' be hoes, so I couldn't blame Tammy Just talked to moms, told her she the sweetest I beat the beat up, call it self defense Swear man, I be seeing through these n***as like sequins N***as think they He-Men, pow, pow, the end Talking to myself because I am my own consultant Married to the money, f**k the world, that's adultery You full of shit, you close your mouth and let yo ass talk Young Money eating, all you haters do is add salt Stop playing, bitch, I got this game on deadbolt Mind so sharp, I f**k around and cut my head off Real n***a all day and tomorrow But these mu'f**kers talking crazy like they jaw broke Glass half empty, half full, I'll spill ya Try me and run into a wall, outfielder You know I'ma ball 'til they turn off the field lights The fruits of my labor, I enjoy 'em while they still ripe Bitch, stop playing, I do it like a king do If these n***as animals, then I'ma have a mink soon Tell 'em bitches I say put my name on the wall I speak the truth, but I guess that's a foreign language to y'all And I call it like I see it, and my glasses on But most of y'all don't get the picture 'less the flash is on Satisfied with nothing, you don't know the half of it Young Money, Cash Money Paper chasing, tell that paper, "Look, I'm right behind ya" Bitch, real G's move in silence like lasagna People say I'm borderline crazy, sorta kinda Woman of my dreams, I don't sleep so I can't find her You n***as are gelatin, peanuts to an elephant I got through that sentence like a subject and a predicate Yeah, with a swag you would kill for Money too strong, pockets on bodybuilder Jumped in a wishing well, now wish me well Tell 'em kiss my ass, call it kiss and tell Word to my mama, I'm out of my lima bean Don't wanna see what that drama mean, guess I'm Dramamine Llama scream, hotter than summer sun on a Ghana queen Now all I want is hits, bitch, Wayne signed a fiend I played the side for you n***as that's tryna front, and see Son of Gunz, Son of Sam, you n***as the son of me Pause for this dumber speech, I glow like Buddha Disturb me, and you'll be all over the flow like Luda Bitch, I flow like scuba, bitch, I'm bold like Cuba And I keep a killer ho, she gon' blow right through ya I be macking, 'bout my stacking, now I pack like a mover Shout to ratchet for backing out on behalf of my shooter N***as think they high as I, I come laugh at your ruler Cash Money cold, bitch, but our actions is cooler Wayne, these n***as out they mind I done told these f**k n***as, so many times That I keep these bucks steady on my mind Tuck these, I f**k these on your mind, pause To feed them, on my grind, gonna need a little luck Keep throwing my sign in the middle Hit 'em up, piece on my side, 'cause ain't no peace on my side, bitch I'm a man, I visit urinals abroad Tune told me to, I'm shooting when the funeral outside I'm uptown, thoroughbred, a B.X. n***a, ya heard? Gunna
writers: IRVING BURGIE, WILLIAM ATTAWAY, SHONDRAE CRAWFORD, PETER PANKEY, DWAYNE CARTER
copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
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