ice cream
Is the autotune on?
Hmhmm, good
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 hella big, tires skinny like Chris Rock
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 roll 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
1-900-Who want it? I deliver
Concrete shoes won't help in the river
I don't care if you was Michael Phelps my nigga
I'm higher than the motherfucking Alps my nigga
I'm flyer than the motherfucking stealth my nigga
Young Money shit, top-shelf my nigga
We the motherfuckers like MILF my nigga
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, nigga, typhoon, nigga
And if you think it's sweet, buy a room, nigga
Damu nigga, I'm on my gang shit
She give me good brain like she studied at Cambridge
Lighting up a motherfucking blunt
Stupid fruity swag like a motherfucking Runt
And I be with my dog like I motherfucking 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 shit, now I'm feeling athletic
I'm on a 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, motherfucker