Lil Wayne – I Don’t Like the Look of It

Lyrics I Don’t Like the Look of It – Gudda Gudda, Lil Wayne

Ok I’m sippin’ on the syrup
Got a n**** moving slow
I’m all about the money
What the f*** you think I do it for
B**** don’t act like you don’t know
I’m killing all these rap n****s
Custom made caskets for you muthaf***a funerals
Keep the women with me
S*** I gotta keep like two or more
Party everyday like we won the f***ing Superbowl
Chillin’ wit my n**** Mack, he keep b****es handy
White girl on the table love them sniff nose candy
When I’m walking by the women say ‘ Who is that n****?’
I replied ‘Hi,I am Gudda Gudda that n****’
I was raised in the home of da Cap Splitters
Whip on 24’s watch it crawl like a caterpillar
I come with a toy boy like a Happy Meal
And yous a muthaf***in’ duck, Daffy Dill
I’m from the school of Hard Knocks, where we scrap and kill
Pick the knife or gunner, you can get the package deal
I’m hot n****, burning everything around me
I was lost for a minute took a while but I found me
The streets say I’m King but the game will never crown me
Realist n**** doin’ it just ask the n****s around me
So you cant size me up or try to clown uh
Shark in the water jump in and Imma drown ya
New Orleans n****, Gun out, Imma down ya
Put n****s to sleep like a muthaf***in’ downer
Imma Great White, yous a flounder
Fish and a b**** I tuna eveything around ya
U-Haul Gudda, moving everything around ya
It’s Young Money B****
At the top is where they found us

Uh, Goons on deck
Marley don’t shoot em’
Silence on the gun
Watch a n**** mute em’
The coach in the booth
Call me Jon Gruden
School these n****s, they all my students
All jokes aside, I ain’t playin’ wit cha
The weed broke down, like a transmission
Tha choppa spin him round, like a ballerina
B**** I’m still spittin’ like I ate a Jalapeno
I’m from uptown, my b**** from Argentina
My pockets on fat like Joey Cartagena
Stunt so hard, it’s all y’all fault

And when it come to beef give me A1 Sauce
I ain’t worryin’ bout s***, Everything paid out
You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade’s house
Wit a high yellow thick b**** wit her legs out
Cash Money president but we in a red house
Who the f*** want it? Make my f***in’ day
I blow your candles out, now n**** cut that cake
I gotta eat b****es, like a run-away
Y’all n****s ain’t eatin, stomach ache
Ok, all these b****es, And n****s still hatin
I used to be ballin’, But now I’m Bill Gate’n
F***in with my iPhone, bumpin Illmatic
I’m on the road to riches, there’s just a lil traffic
Hair still platted, thuggin is a habbit
Keep my guitar, Hip-Hop Lenny Kravitz
Bunch of bad b-tches and I f-ck em like rabbits
Dope d-ck Weezy, ya girlfriend an addict, Uhh

Written by: Rondell II Cobbs, Dwayne Carter, Carl E. Lilly
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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