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lil wayne - ice cream lyrics
[intro]
is the autotune on?
hmhmm, good
[verse]
young money, syrup in the big shot
time to do the thang, that’s word to your wrist watch
shoot the glock ’til it burn, ’til my wrist lock
rims h-lla big, tires skinny like chris rock
hold the gun sideways like o-dog
shoot a n-gga in his face, knock his nose off
make the girls say my name like a roll call
pain k!llers got a n-gga ’bout to doze off
big sh-t, n-gga, talk big sh-t, n-gga
big bread, bread like a picnic, n-gga
shake the whole game like the hit-stick, n-gga
money spread like germs, get sick, n-gga
yeah, and f-ck them other n-ggas
1-900-who want it? i deliver
concrete shoes won’t help in the river
i don’t care if you was michael phelps my n-gga
i’m higher than the motherf-cking alps my n-gga
i’m flyer than the motherf-cking stealth my n-gga
young money sh-t, top-shelf my n-gga
we the motherf-ckers like milf my n-gga
ahem, flow like syringes
yeah i’m in my mode, got a code like da vinci’s
i was in the trenches, now i’m in the trump
and everybody watch your back when you’re in the front
you ain’t never safe, stop playing with a gangsta
bring it to his face and he ran like a flanker
bend the girl over, put her hands on her ankles
i’m all over this ice cream beat like sprinkles
“why, thank you!” if you’s a hater
i’m eating, you’s a waiter
pistol on my hip, tomb raider
holla at your guala, summa laude
young tune, n-gga, typhoon, n-gga
and if you think it’s sweet, buy a room, n-gga
damu n-gga, i’m on my gang sh-t
she give me good brain like she studied at cambridge
lighting up a motherf-cking blunt
stupid fruity swag like a motherf-cking runt
and i be with my dog like i motherf-cking hunt
and every day of the week it’s the first of the month
audemars piguet with the diamonds in the face
can’t tell the time cause the diamonds in the face
we can get it popping like a semi automatic
and if you got beef i’ll put the biscuit on a patty
rockstar tatted, big-money addict
running this sh-t, now i’m feeling athletic
i’m on a boat, b-tch, gettin’ sea sick
stop playin’, i’m fresher than a degree stick
street sh-t, well, of course
i smoke mad weed, i’m on my high-horse
please don’t shoot me down, i land feet flat
then walk a million miles with new orleans on my back
hah, i need a m-ssage
and when it come to hoes, man, i got a collage
finger on the b-tton, n-gga, just stuntin’
if you ain’t the bank teller, don’t tell me nothin’
kush so strong you can smell me comin’
b-tch, i go hard like the boy from “300”
you think y’all kick it, well boy, we puntin’
young money, baby, we the sh-t, weak stomachs
no ceilings, motherf-cker
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