Ice Cream Paint Job (Remix) Lyrics
(Is the auto tune on? good)
[Verse]
Young Money, syrup and a Big Shot
Time to do the thing, that's word to ya wrist watch
Shoot the Glock till it burn to my wrist lock
Rims hella big, tires skinny like Chris Rock
H-Hold the gun sideways like O-Dog
Shoot a nigga in his face, knock his nose off
Make the girls say my name like a role call
Pain killers got a nigga bout to doze off
Big shit nigga, talk big shit nigga
Big bread bread like a picnic nigga
Shake the whole game like the hit stick nigga
Money spread like germs, get sick nigga
Yeah, and fuck them other niggas
1 9 hundred, who want it? I deliver
Concrete shoes won't help in the river
I don't care if you were Michael Phelps, my nigga
I'm higher than the mutherfuckin' Alps, my nigga
I'm flyer than the mutherfuckin' stealth, my nigga
Y-Young Money shit, top shelf, my nigga
We the motherfuckers like MILF, my nigga
UhUm, Flow like syringes
Yeah, I'm in my mode, got a code like Da Vinci
I was in the trenches, now I'm in the Trump
And everybody watch ya back when you're in the front
You ain't never safe, stop playin' 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 eatin, you's a waiter
Pistol on my hip, Tomb Raider
Holla at ya gualla, sue 'em later
Young tune nigga, typhoon nigga
https://www.elyricsworld.com/ice_cream_paint_job_(remix)_lyrics_lil_wayne.html
And if you think it's sweet, buy a room nigga
Die or move, nigga
I'm on my gang shit
She gimme good brain like she studied at Cambridge
Lightin' up a mutherfuckin' blunt
Stupid fruity swag like a mutherfuckin' runt
And I be with my dog like a mutherfucka huntin'
Every day of the week is the first of the month
Audemar Piguet with the diamonds in the face, can't tell the time cause the diamonds in the face
We can get it poppin' like a semi automatic
And if ya got beef, I'll put the biscuit on the pattyy
Rockstar tatted, big money addict
Runnin' this shit, now I'm feelin' athletic
I-I'm on the boat bitch, gettin' sea sick
Stop playin', I'm fresher than a Degree stick
Street shit, 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 massage
And when it come to hoes, man I got a collage
Finger on the button, nigga just stuntin'
If you ain't the bank teller, don't tell me nothin'
Kush so strong, you can smell me comin'
Bitch, I go hard like the boy from 300
You think y'all kick it
Well boy we puntin'
Young Money baby, we the shit, weak stomachs
No ceilings, muthafucka~
