|
Intro |
|
Yeah, what it do |
|
Haha, heh, already |
|
Yeah, listen man, yeah my niqqa |
|
We got this shit |
|
Ey, ey, i tried told them, yeah |
|
Cash Money Millionaire, ya know |
|
I Can't Feel My Face |
|
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let's go |
|
Let's go, let's go, haa, i told them |
|
Shoutout to Bun B, yeah |
|
Verse 1 |
|
Yeah, straight up D-Boy, 17th Ward |
|
Miss Katrina turned my city to a seesaw |
|
I keep goin' for them corners like Lyor |
|
They gon' either respect me or he all |
|
Burnin them bitches like a sequel |
|
Punk, put a hump in your back, they called it Igor |
|
What, this shit is hard, any yard where we are |
|
We call that cocaine rice, i got that Condoleezza |
|
Huh, you fuck with me chump, i rock your teacup |
|
I say before you spend a dollar boy, put up the re-up |
|
Yep, get up cuz we up, foot up and knee up in the game |
|
Put up and shut up, i hit your head up or go bang |
|
Birdgang and the Birdman J, Lil Wayne |
|
Here to hang, other words here to stay, feel my pain |
|
Fireman, i spark and i rain, i hark through the flames |
|
Yeah, all for the change, yeah |
|
Call it insane but im a hustler to the muscle |
|
And them new drop Bentley's look like pussy in the summer |
|
So im fuckin' that, huggin that block like im lovin' that |
|
Never sell a crumb where my mother at, run with that |
|
You can come at me for beef and shots come with that |
|
Your bitch come at me for wood and im the lumberjack |
|
I come in that Similac Maybach, shades black |
|
Lookin' like im tryna bring yay back, asap |
|
Give it to em raw, no ajax, taste that |
|
Fuck around and make your face crack |
|
I know niggaz that shoot dope, arms lookin' like a racetrack |
|
Nigga missed a vein in his neck, his whole face fat |
|
You can't take that, well i can't take back |
|
Where i come from so i learned how to make that |
|
Yeah, turn that straight to a G stack |
|
Stack up my cheese, now im screamin "where the keys at" |
|
Interlude |
|
I Can't Feel My Face |
|
I really don't think they ready for this |
|
Verse 2 |
|
I'm from block one, five-one, where my young |
|
Niggaz on the rise to get a name, don't try them |
|
Wayne, i fell your pain and i see your stress |
|
How they think your people 'posed to get through Katrina off of FEMA checks |
|
Coke in a Pyrex, dope and the ice, yes |
|
Mind on the highway, road signs, right, left |
|
And that's the mind-state of kids growin' up |
|
Still they wonder why the crime rate's goin up, throw it up |
|
Eastside, Westside, Southside, Northside |
|
Fuck with my money, i torch guys, off guys |
|
Hire men, fire men, send em to a higher man (there he go) |
|
Torture em, vice grip, pliers man |
|
Niggaz turn to tin foil when they see the iron man |
|
Pressure bust pipes, i apply it and |
|
Move like a lion through the jungle (yes) |
|
There is none higher than me |
|
Don't slip up and wind up in the lion bend |
|
Big body Benz eyein' man, higher than |
|
A chick that flight-attend or air force flyer man |
|
Bad bitches, i fly em and fuck em |
|
Send em back home hyped, feelin' like they on nitrogen |
|
Just call me the Pied Piper man |
|
Still get the coke through the pipeline then off to the piper stem |
|
And im still gettin' paper back in rubber bands |
|
I still got paper bags comin' in |
|
I still got that mattress with the paper bags under it |
|
Comic books, Playboy baby mag under it |
|
Still, i still got ties with my guys who don't speak no English |
|
Them vatos, they got those cheapest |
|
Got no green card, got no visas |
|
And got those Pablo features |
|
They drop off then pick up, i pick up then drop off |
|
The drop off was picked up and then what, i get it |
