No Ceilings..
O-Ok, I got this chrome on this Bugatti
I’m strong in this Bugatti
Two v8’s ain’t no such thing as driving calm in this Bugatti
Bitch I’m bad
I’m worse
I pass the purp
Don’t fuck with me ‘cause right now I’m higher than Cap-tain Kirk
I swear I be the sickest nigga, You can ask the nurse
And if you throw it in the bag, I bet I’ll snatch her purse
Ok I spazz, I curse
You last, I’m first
I’m on your ass- like dirt
Behind that cash- get murked
I’m talkin’ big shit nigga- join my hitlist nigga
What’s the matter? Check your bladder, I’m the shit- piss nigga
Shoot the witness, nigga
Whole court in the streets
And convict this nigga
Oh, dickless nigga
Man I’m runnin’ with the blucka
Young money motherfucka
You think we gon’ do our thing?
Well ain’t it sunny in the summer?
And we coming for the commas
And whoever among us
And you know Imma bust my ass until my crew very humongous
I said T.I. hold ya head
And Mack hold ya head
Wish I could, but I can’t say some other names ‘cause of the feds
And to my bloods- cold red
Man you know how we plead
And if it cost to be the boss, oh well, I guess I gotta pay
I-I’m a New Orleans nigga, I don’t take no shit
Take the brain off the whip, now it don’t make no sense
Stunt hard on these bitches, I ain’t promise tomorrow
Now when they kicking it wit me, like Nomar Garciaparra
Flute rollin’, killin’ plants, the lil shop of horror
And we roll them bitches thick- make ‘em look like Toccara (Jones)
Man I’m too much for these niggas, and three much for these hoes
The World is in my hands, and I keep my hands closed
I love my baby mommas, they get my highest honor
Gotta take care o’ them kids, Man I know you heard Obama
And I live on an island, Atlantic in my backyard
I just tell my pilot- to land it in my backyard
Quarterback- shotgun, you don’t get any sack yards
Bitch, I ball hard, breakin’ all the backboards
Pretty-boy Floyd, step up- I will crack yours
And even at the White House, we pull up at the back doors
Walk around, like I’m thirty feet tall
Tiger Woods- All these hoes tryna birdie these balls
And the Porche 911, like emergency calls
Man, I just be chillin’, I’m cool like Lou Rawls
Young money in the building, I’m puttin’ up new walls
Nigga, take your Mrs. Officer- and set some new laws
My flow is like rubbin’ two logs
Young mula we the new shit, and new drawers
(Uh) Now get off my dick- I ain’t fuckin’ witcha
Watch me shoot to the bank, I’m a money pistol
Weezy beat the beat up, like Sonny Liston
Redbone do me good, then I friend her sister
I mean a bitch, she never met her best friend or sister
I leave her pussy microsoft like Windows Vista
Young tunche, pop that coochie for a goon, hoe
Bullet in you boy’s memory, now you act like you dunno
East side who I do it for- Eagle Street, right by the store
Katrina wiped the city out- but couldn’t fuck with Hollygrove
Lost some real niggas, I knew from a long time ago
But heaven or hell, I hopin’ that they be where Imma go
Take a nigga gal, and make her come give me a private show
Still long hair, don’t care, like a Navajo
I’m the hardest shit- go in your ass and search
I smash this verse, and I swag and surf
No Ceilings.
(Hahaha.)
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