Gudda Gudda - I Don\'t Like The Look Of This lyrics

rate me

[Gudda]

Ok Im sippin on the syrup

Got a n-gga moving slow

I’m all about the money

What the f-ck you think I do it for

B-tch don’t act like you don’t know

I’m killing all these rap n-ggas

Custom made caskets for you muthaf-cka funerals

Keep the women with me

Sh-t I gotta keep like two or more

Party everyday like we won the f-cking Superbowl

Chillin wit my n-gga Mack he keep b-tches handy

White girl on the table love them sniff nose candy

When I’m walking by the women say ” Who is that n-gga?”

I replied “HiI am Gudda Gudda that n-gga”

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-ckin’ 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-gga 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-gga doin it just ask the n-ggas 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-gga Gun out Imma down ya

Put n-ggas to sleep like a muthaf-ckin’ downer

Imma Great White yous a flounder

Fish and a b-tch I tuna eveything around ya

U-Haul Gudda moving everything around ya

It’s Young Money Bitch

At the top is where they found us

[Lil Wayne]

Uhh Goons on deck

Marley don’t shoot em’

Silence on the gun

Watch a n-gga mute em’

The coach in the booth

Call me Jon Gruden

School these n-ggas 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-tch I’m still spittin like I ate a Jalapeno

I’m from uptown my bitch 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 sh-t Everything paid out

You could catch me courtside in Dwayne Wade’s house

Wit a high yellow thick b-tch wit her legs out

Cash Money president but we in a red house

Who the f-ck want it? Make my f-ckin’ day

I blow your candles out now n-gga cut that cake

I gotta eat bitches like a run-away

Y’all n-ggas ain’t eatin stomach ache

Ok all these b-tches And n-ggas still hatin

I used to be ballin’ But now I’m Bill Gate’n

F-ckin 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

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