Bangladesh
Young Money
Ya dig
Yeah, Mac, I'm going in
A millionaire, I'm a Young Money millionaire
Tougher than Nigerian hair
My criteria compared to your career, this isn't fair
I'm a venereal disease like a menstrual bleed
Through the pencil and leak
On the sheet of the tablet in my mind
Bangladesh
Young Money
Ya dig
Yeah, Mac, I'm going in
A millionaire, I'm a Young Money millionaire
Tougher than Nigerian hair
My criteria compared to your career, this isn't fair
I'm a venereal disease like a menstrual bleed
Through the pencil and leak
On the sheet of the tablet in my mind
'Cause I don't write shit, 'cause I ain't got time
'Cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the almighty dollar
And the almighty power of that ch-ch-ch-ch-chopper
Sister, brother, son, daughter, father, motherfucka, coppa
Got the Maserati dancin' on the bridge, pussy poppin'
Tell the coppa's, ha-ha-ha-ha
You can't catch 'em, you can't stop 'em
I go by them goon rules
If you can't beat 'em, then you prop 'em
You can't man 'em, then you mop 'em
You can't stand 'em, then you drop 'em
You pop em, 'cause we pop 'em like Orville Redenbacher
Motherfucka, I'm ill...yeah
A million here, a million there
Sicilian bitch with long hair and coke in her derriere
Like smokin' the thinnest air, I open the Lamborghini
Hopin' them crackers see me like, "Look at that bastard Weezy"
He's a beast, he's a dog, he's a motherfuckin' problem
Okay, you're a goon, but what's a goon to a goblin?
Nothin', nothin', you ain't scarin' nothin'
On some faggot bullshit, call 'em Dennis Rodman
Call me what you want, bitch
Call me on my Sidekick
Never answer when it's private
Damn, I hate a shy bitch
Don't you hate a shy bitch?
Yeah, I ate a shy bitch
And she ain't shy no more, she changed her name to my bitch
Ha-ha, yeah, nigga, that's my bitch
So when she ask for the money when you through
Don't be surprised, bitch
It ain't trickin' if you got it
But you like a bitch with no ass, you ain't got shit
Motherfucka, I'm ill, not sick
And I'm okay, but my watch sick
Yeah, my drop sick, yeah, my Glock sick
And my knot dick
I'm ill
Motherfucka, I'm ill...yeah, see
They say I'm rappin' like Big, Jay, and Tupac
Andre 3000, where is Erykah Badu at?
Who that? Who that say they gonna beat Lil Wayne?
My name ain't Bic, but I keep that flame, man
Who that wanna do that, boy?
Ya knew that true the swallow
And I be the shit, now you got loose bowels
I don't owe you like two vowels
But I would like you to pay me by the hour, ha-ha
And I'd rather be pushin' flowers
Than to be in the pen sharin' showers
Tony told us this world was ours
And the Bible told every girl was sour
Don't play in her garden and don't smell her flower
Call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower
Boy, I got so many bitches like Mike Lowry
Even Gwen Stefani said she couldn't doubt me
Motherfucka, I say life ain't shit without me
Chrome lips pokin' out the coupe, look like it's poutin'
I do what I do, and you do what you can do about it
Bitch, I can turn a crack rock into a mountain, dare me
Don't you compare me, 'cause there ain't nobody near me
They don't see but they hear me, they don't feel me but they fear me
I'm illy
C3, 3P
